I cannot help but to feel deeply
“It’s not a crime” you say
Some call it a gift
And a gift it is
Only feels like a curse
When what I feel is pain
Your pain, their pain
It is all my pain
The curse of empathy
Of sensing emotion,
Seeing particles of
joy and misery
floating through the air.
And it pours into me
I pour it back onto the pages
of beaten, torn up journal
Ink and blood mix on
the white canvas
Sketching out picture
of your fears and failures
The recesses of your mind
You’d thought you’d hidden well
But I can see