Exploding anger, the ensuing violence.
The crying kid, grown up since.
These are the truths—
Not an excuse.
Broken doors, fractured wrists.
Raised voices, lowered eyes.
The past remains, no excuses,
Definitely not an alibi.
Guilt lingers, but I hold it in.
I feel the fire, I bear the scars.
These are the truths—
Not an excuse.
I’m not rewriting, no revisions,
No softening for their ears.
I wear my past, not as armour
But heavy chains all these years.
Some days, I drag them step by step,
Other days, they just ground me down.
Voices echo in my head
Do I fight, or let them drown?
Truth is a burden, truth is a weight,
These are the truths,
Not an excuse.
The Narratives - Mohamed Miah 
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