Poetry Blogs (Empathy)

You call me selfish for trying to take what is mine, and mine only, and do with it as I wish

Your claim and the belief behind it, is even more so

And, though you may not realize, all you are doing is prioritizing your pain over mine

You pacify your fear of heartache with my suffering

So tell me true, if you were in my shoes - if you overlooked your own feelings to e...

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Empathy is
not your
Strong suit.

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Her hair covered

Her head down 

A baby in the push chair 

Not one familiar place around.

The shop girl served her,

Speaking loud and slow 

The lady understood 

What their was to know.

I sensed a patronising tone,

As the shop girl spoke 

The lady didn’t realise 

The condensation invoked.

The man with the tattoos

Stared and screwed up his face 

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I'm just a number,
Put me in the back.
One of these days,
I swear I'll fucking snap.

Always keeping it in,
Forever pushing it down.
One day I'll strike this match
And burn this place to the ground.

Empathy is a curse,
A color I wear well.
I'm sick of always wondering
How other people feel.

I don't take care of myself,
I just bury my own bone.
I'm always there for everyone
But I'm al...

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When, at the end of a complicated season

of argument and negotiation

I check, and find that the moon is dark.

And will soon be new,

I consider the things undone

That will not now be done

And the things unexplained

Which will leave large pools of dissatisfaction

And I breathe out, out, emptying the air

From my lungs, and the worries

From my head; letting it a...

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Pity those who act wild in the midst of anger,
who rant and rave and resort to slander,
for they are hurting beyond the limits of control,
to help them we must find the hurt in their soul...

For some it will be the sudden arrival of pain,
in others there may be some shocking shame,
what matters for all is to seek out the true cause,
and let it be known for it is conjecture that gn...

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'The Lady of the House
Wia,
Whom he loves'

within these ruined walls
you lived
loved
played
laughed
cried
worked

- died

long gone now
only dust remains
yet carved painted stones
bring testimony
of your life
and warmth
down through the years
and suddenly
you are almost
close enough to touch

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