The Ballad of the Silent Scars

There was a soul, quiet and kind,  
Who bore the weight none could define.  
A thank for every little deed,  
For in their heart, no one would heed.

They’d say, "I’m sorry," night and day,  
For things they never caused dismay.  
Blamed for wrongs they didn’t do,  
Their voice was silenced, lost from view.

Their past, a door locked tight and cold,  
A childhood story left untold.  
Not by choice, but swept away,  
By scars that deepened day by day.

Compliments would pass them by,  
Their heart unsure of how or why.  
For praise felt foreign, distant still,  
Like warmth they'd never learned to fill.

They stopped asking, turned aside,  
When help was needed, they'd still hide.  
For hands once stretched had pulled away,  
Leaving them alone, astray.

And so, they wandered through their days,  
With silent scars in hidden ways.  
A heart of strength beneath the pain,  
Still hoping to be whole again.