Empathy

 What is there left to empathize when I’ve given you every part of me.

I’ve given you every part of my existence.


The happiness.


The sorrow.


The deepest parts of my death lie within you.


I’ve given it all up.


Empathy.


Why should I be empathic to you?


You’ve got it all.


I can’t believe I let you have everything that comes with me.


You see, you broke down barriers that I’ve worked so hard to build.


I never wanted you to see me at my most vulnerable.


I’ve shown you parts of me that even I didn’t want to see.


My truth.


My sexual depth.


My traumas.


And triggers.


I’ve shown you who I am when I’m at my weakest.


And when I’ve been at my highest.


I’ve taken everything you’ve given me.


And treated it like a rare feather.


With care.


And tenderness.


Because I know what it’s like for someone to not know who you are.


And even my purest intentions can be misconstrued.


Damn.


That hurt.


I can’t lie.


But you know what?


Maybe you’re right.


I don’t have empathy.


Because where’s my empathy when someone stomps on my heart strings.


And makes me feel worthless.


And treats my pain like the cheap box of crayons.


Disposable.


Everyday, I have to walk like I’m strong.


And proud.


And even when things in my world crash.


I have to get up, keep my head up, and “deal with it”.


You want your empathy…


Well where’s mine?

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