This poem is inspired by my blog post ‘Hurt People Hurt People: The Psychology Behind Why We Lash Out‘. You can find the full post here:
Pain doesn’t vanish when ignored—
it hides in tone, in word, in sword.
It sleeps inside the aching chest,
then wakes to wound what’s unaddressed.
A sharp remark, a turning cold,
a need to bruise to feel control.
We call it anger, pride, or spite—
but it’s the heart still seeking light.
Behind the glare, the cruel refrain,
is someone trying to outrun pain.
A child once shamed, a trust once torn,
now guards the wound that made them worn.
It isn’t right, it isn’t fair—
but hurt repeats when left in air.
Unhealed, it learns to strike, to shield,
to harm so it can feel okay.
And so the cycle spins again—
the broken break, the hurt keep hurting,
Until one stops, and looks within,
and names the storm beneath the skin.
It takes great strength to pause the fight,
to sit and face the pain in sight,
to say, “My pain will not define me—
only forgiveness will set me free.”
For healing doesn’t roar or shout;
it’s choosing love when anger shouts.
It’s standing soft, though taught to flee,
and freeing both the “you” and “me.”
We heal the world by healing one—
by tending wounds we’ve left undone.
Each act of grace, each truth we learn,
can stop the flame before it burns.
And when we lead with healing light,
the ache dissolves, the pain takes flight.
The heart grows calm, the mind grows clear—
and joy returns, unhindered, near.
For once we love from what is whole,
no hurt can rule the gentle soul.
The past unbinds, the spirit mends—
and pain, at last, becomes our friend.
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