It\'s my nature not to keep hate in my heart.
The stage was set—your kin, a gallery row,
You turned your tongue into a blade of glass.
I watched the poison spark and start to flow,
While silence held the seconds as they’d pass.
I bore the sting beneath a placid mask,
And kept the jagged shards inside my chest;
To shield the ones who loved us was the task,
To put their gentle, hopeful hearts at rest.
You whispered stories of my hardened soul,
That I was cold, that I had locked the gate.
You claimed I held a grudge, that I was whole
In harboring a deep and bitter hate.
But you were wrong; I washed the slate each night,
I offered grace before the sun could rise.
I never kept a flame of vengeful light,
I only searched for truth within your eyes.
I still arrive, I still extend the hand,
I speak the words that bridge the hollow space.
But trust is like a house upon the sand,
Washed out to sea and vanished without trace.
I never found the root, the hidden seed,
Why you would need to cut me down so small.
I never felt the urge to make you bleed,
I only wept that you would build this wall.
It wasn\'t hate that changed the way I see,
It wasn\'t wrath that made the tether fray;
It was the quiet, lonely mystery—
Of why you tossed the kindness all away.