Words come out so easily, don’t they?
Like soft whispers, light as air—
but to the one listening,
they can feel like heavy stones.
People throw words without a thought,
without a pause to wonder,
if those words are sharp or soft,
if they might hurt, or heal, or break.
They only see their own feelings,
their own world, their own storms—
never thinking that someone else
is left holding the pieces,
of something shattered by their voice.
It’s easy, too easy for some,
to speak without thinking,
to let words fly free, unkind,
forgetting hearts are fragile,
not made to bear all this weight.
We stand here, quietly gathering
the pieces their words have left,
in a world that speaks so loudly,
but rarely listens, rarely cares.
And so, we build our walls higher,
wrap our hearts in quiet strength,
remembering that kindness,
isn’t something everyone gives,
and gentle words are rare.
Like soft whispers, light as air—
but to the one listening,
they can feel like heavy stones.
People throw words without a thought,
without a pause to wonder,
if those words are sharp or soft,
if they might hurt, or heal, or break.
They only see their own feelings,
their own world, their own storms—
never thinking that someone else
is left holding the pieces,
of something shattered by their voice.
It’s easy, too easy for some,
to speak without thinking,
to let words fly free, unkind,
forgetting hearts are fragile,
not made to bear all this weight.
We stand here, quietly gathering
the pieces their words have left,
in a world that speaks so loudly,
but rarely listens, rarely cares.
And so, we build our walls higher,
wrap our hearts in quiet strength,
remembering that kindness,
isn’t something everyone gives,
and gentle words are rare.