Who hurt you.
Who hurt you?
Do tell me true.
Who taught your heart to split in two?
Who turned your trust to rust and wire,
Who filled your chest with smoke and fire?
Was it a hand that claimed to care,
Then left you broken standing there?
Was it a voice that spoke to you in grace,
While teaching fear to take its place?
Was it the love you thought was real,
That brought you wounds that never healed?
I see it now in all you do,
The anger stitched straight through and through.
The way you strike before you’re struck,
As if you world just ran of luck.
As if you’re owed a debt unpaid,
A balance due for what they made.
And maybe so.
perhaps it’s true.
The world was cruel as hell to you.
But pain is not a crown to wear,
Nor proof that life was ever fair.
And hurt is not a pass to break
The hearts of those who made no mistakes.
I see your scars.
I know they’re deep.
Some wounds don’t fade.
Some never sleep.
Some stay alive beneath the skin,
Replaying where they’ve always been.
But every scar can teach two things:
How to wound,
Or how to bring
A little shelter,
A little light,
To someone fighting through the night.
You know the cost of being torn.
You know the ache of being worn.
You know what fear can make us be,
How hate can grow from misery.
So why become the thing you hate?
Why cause another to share that fate?
Why build new prisons from your pain,
Then act as if it’s just the rain?
So tell me who.
I’ll hear the name.
I’ll curse the ones who lit the flame.
I’ll sit beside the grief you knew,
And mourn the child and what they put her through.
But hear me too.
And hear me right.
The dark may visit every night.
Yet scars are not an excuse to choose
To make another person bruise.
The cycle breaks when someone stands,
And drops the anger from their hands.
The ruin stops when someone learns
Not every wound deserves returns.
So tell me who hurt you.
That’s fair.
But tell me this:
Now that you’re aware,
Will you rebuild what they tore apart,
Or pass the damage from heart to heart?
