That’s an English version of this: https://loscittorevolante.wordpress.com/2021/02/16/poesia-cuore-nero/
Heart doesn’t shine anymore.
It’s locked inside his fortress.
Is not even an armor anymore: he doesn’t need it.
He’s alone. He’s hurt.
With all of these words written on him.
Words that still hurts.
He knows he’s been squeezed to the top.
He wants to be pure once again.
The love he feels it’s pure. Sincere.
Something has corrupted it.
The one who has it in his chest, persists to be as he thinks is best.
He knows he’s “perfect as he is”.
Bearing the weight of this masks they painted all over him.
A Dark, black heart,
they painted it black, with chalks,
ruining his walls.
Heart risks to lose his identity,
still, doesn’t regret who he truly is.
He doesn’t regret he did what he did.
As he felt right.
He knows that the way he was defined,
is the mst distant thing from the truth.
He’s full of sh*** now, litteraly.
He and what he loved.
Now he has to bear the pain,
weight of black.
They think he’s so naive,
but he isn’t.
He think uncapable of hate but,
he hates they took what he loved away from him.
Most importantly than every parsion, passion, feelling,
they took away himself.
The one he worked so hard on.
To be a better self, a better version, for a long, long time.
He wants to decide how to be that.
Not as he “should”, as someone else’s think.
Now he whispers in solitude:
“let me drem,
let me love,
let me be who I wanna be.
Let me hope,
Let me find back
My true face”.
Black heart twich in his own pain,
It’s still me who I decide what I want,
who I am.
In my head – not only mine – there are wrong ideas, now.
I don’t accept it.
My idea it’s the one which matters the most.
Before every other influences got there,
influences, or should I say: Bull***?
I want back what was real.
Not as it “should”, or “it is”.
Dark, black heart
Wants to be red again.