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 Mar 16 st64
Marc Morais
She arrives at the shelter,
bone-tired, out of breath—
she has been walking in
the woods for hours, trying
not to be seen.

She approaches, shaking
and crying, undecided if
she is more afraid that
he will be there or if he
has decided not to show.

She lets out a huge sigh—
she can’t help herself—it is
always this way—always
ending badly. She sums up
her courage and enters—

The room is empty, but she
knows he has been here—
there are four doors where
once there was only one.
She moves closer to the
table in the center—where
there are four keys and a
note on the table saying—
"A shelter open to a world
of possibilities, yours to
keep."

She stands up and walks to
a corner where she finds a
pile of weapons—she picks up
a knife and a note and returns
to the table.

The knife held in one hand,
close to her heart, she begins
to read—

"I left my stash of weapons
with an instruction booklet,
a hammer, and a shovel—
learn to use, to break, or to
bury them—they’re yours
now—the only thing I need
now is a blindfold."

She gasps and grips the handle firmly—
she stops reading—too afraid for him.

She brings the knife close
to her mouth and continues
to read—

"I have gone blindfolded into
the woods and walk among
vampires, ghouls, and hungry
wolves—hope they can teach
me how to run my hands over
scars and not flinch. I’m calm
and keeping watch. Stay safe
and on guard."

She puts the knife down on the
table. Her finger twitches at
the touch of the scar below her
heart. She walks around and
notices some writings on the
wall—without meaning.

Next to them, the contour of a
man is drawn with chalk lines,
as if a ghost is sitting leaned
against the wall—legs stretched
out and head tilted back. The
chalk and an eraser pad lie on
the cold floor. She slides into
the corner, the contour and the
walls against her back—within
minutes, she falls asleep.

She grows restless, trapped in a
dream where monsters dance
around the chalk line of a corpse—
she feels a tap on her shoulder.
She turns around slowly and
sees a monster grinning with a
****** blindfold in his hand.

She wakes up to the sound of
her screams, drenched in cold
sweat—then slowly rests her
head against the wall.

Nightmares are hard when all
you want when you wake up
is to go back to sleep.

She slowly stands and notices
for the first time a message on
the opposite wall—

"I have come far from a sea of
tears, washed up on your shore—
nothing but a random act of
kindness."
POEM**  

Alone, alone  
and you are somewhere, alone  
alone  
searching for letters  
...the poem is like a woman  
       washing her hair in waterfalls  
she doesn’t know  
   that every drop, fleeing into the world,  
becomes waterfalls  
carrying me to your heart  
quietly  
thundering  
...like lightning under a cloudless sky  
but this is only  
....just another  
poem
When I was building you, I went to the old hill, where the fairies danced, I chose the hardest stone, the granite foundation, with heavy iron and a calloused hand, I carved you from morning till night,
again
and again and again...
-
When you were carving me, they went to the forest of giants, cut down the tallest oak, chose the strongest trunk, and with kisses tore off the bark,
carved me from moring till night
again
and again, again
-
Until one day, when we emerged from the darkness, my fortress and your boat, under the restless sea, we put up the same flag, intertwined the walls and sails, danced an ode to the wind and sang to the sun that watches over us...
-
- And then a storm came, and the clouds hid everything, even the moon, the magical mornings disappeared, the songs fell asleep, only the echo of the iron striking the  heavy stone
and hard branches break
let's build ourselves again
to last
more
than one summer...
I feel like society stupider with each year that passes by
In an ocean of tears "cancel culture" has bred to cry
Going deeper and deeper into debt
A diving submarine
Deeper than bottom of world's largest explored ravine
No oxygen to saturate lungs because we keep cutting down forests
Is it just me or does it seem like to Earth the human race is nothing but tourists?
Just the smoke of warfare lingering once the end is reached
Solution that will save our planet is one we choose not to teach
I feel it is too late to make this sinking ship float
No light at end of tunnel
No safety net
No lifeboat
I don't believe in God above so there is nothing to rescue me now
Just shallows which are strewn with sharp rocks anyhow
Where the price of living increases quality of life plummets fast
Predators prowl
Disguised politicians controlling crowds amassed
Nights filled with sounds of crying infants and gunfire
Cats and dogs euthanized in shelters
Number growing ever higher
The majority of generation too busy clubbing to care
How come only a couple of us are aware?
Treating less fortunate like carpets on the floor
Unless happening to them issues are easier to ignore
Miniscule portion of millennials are willing to ***** their expensive boots
Rather dance to mindless beats
(That is until someone short-circuits and shoots)
That's what it necessitates for them to focus on what matters
Oblivious up to the instant their sensory defenses shatter
Then victims share their harrowing account
False sense of security revealed
They tally up the body count
Experiences that in past would change character for the greater
Now shrugged off with a wave
(As long as there's a compensator)
And the judicial system mostly for show
Judges and prosecutors more corrupt than population could know
I'm searching for tangible proof this is truly the "land-of-the-free"
If I establish this message until echoed will I have weapons pointed at me?
Our government abandoned us
Requests are seldom heard
Self-protecting entities whose morals are all blurred
The people stumble through mud looking for a light
Darkness used to divide us pretending there's only black-and-white
It's one extreme or other
Exists no in-between
Stuck inside the matrix distracted by a slow-motion routine
Cycle repeated historically at such length it's difficult to recognize
This facade is choreographed right in front of our very eyes
Meandering as if we are born lost sheep
Badly deficient of guidance
***** we're climbing too steep
We require a little push in the right direction
Declaring difference between patrol and protection
Each of us is so immersed in the pursuit of our own bliss
Don't realize in the process of grabbing we also fall into the abyss
And pull others with us so at least there's company there
When you're alone failure is much harder to bear
Reality is a ticking bomb nobody wants to face
If we don't figure out an answer eventually mankind will be erased
For things to become better we ALL must take a stand
Stop acting selfishly instead lend those suffering a hand
Some musings about the state of this country I am stuck in
I wish I had told you that you were my best friend
Come to realize that fact now
After your life met it's end
Nothing said or done could ever bring you back
I still beg unseen forces to reverse your passing and unfade surroundings from black
Your death hit like a bullet straight through my chest
Here on out I'll continue bleeding every sentiment left unexpressed
I can't help feeling bitter towards the world turning round and round
For taking my heaven-sent angel and burying her in the cold ground
I wake each heavy morning and barely face the sun
Swept up in a hurricane but I seem to be the only one
Driving down an unpaved road no signs saying yield
Rain is crashing so hard I can hardly see through the windshield
And know if you were here you'd be encouraging me to keep fighting
I ****** myself bit by bit
Demise I'm expediting
I'm stranded on remote island surrounded by ocean of my fears
Beach shrinking as tide rolls in
Helplessly watch as all land disappears
It is not fair you deserted me in a barren expanse of loneliness
Wilting I long for the familiar warmth of your caress
Now aching hours are blistered by regret and rage
Heating shaky hands as I spill my story onto this page
Ready to give up what is there to continue breathing for?
Nothing lasts forever and I admit I simply don't want to anguish anymore
It's like I'm held underwater by a dozen unbreakable strings
Lay in bed when night falls tormented by sound of your laughter as it rings
How is it possible to be dead as my pulse simultaneously races
Feet exhausted from sprinting in circles over the same four bases
I once was aware of my worth
Moved with purpose and care
Presently time warps wasting away as I navigate this nightmare
Drinking nostalgia like alcohol
Enjoying shot after shot
Intoxicated with reminiscence
Drowning in love I have no longer got
I caught cranium on fire in attempt to warm up insides
Pursuing this glow your presence no longer supplies
Beneath sheets I roll until my limbs become a tangled mess
Dreams only location where I am briefly unshackled from distress
Speak to you sleeping then expect you to remain
Once eyes open you are left behind in another domain
Then experience you parting to the point like it was new
For one second I forget that there is no more you
And everything comes tumbling around me in a blink
Dire circumstances are slowly nudging me towards the brink
Trying to gain some distance between me and the edge of this cliff
Spent enough energy wrestling with two words
"What if?"
To taste that state of carefree bliss bathed in as a child
Unharnessed love shadowed me before innocence was defiled
Wrapped in an insatiable yearning for arms laid to ashes
No bandages or stitches are able to close up emotional gashes
I should have savored sweetness of your affection while I could
Every last bit of maternal nurturance is gone for good
Just talking to my mom
 Feb 22 st64
Bardo
Since my cat died I've been feeding the birds
The small birds, the robins, wagtails, sparrows, blue ****
I've even been feeding the crows
But I kind of drew the line with the magpies
They always had a bad rep for stealing things
One day though it was very cold and frosty out
And there was this poor magpie in the garden
And he looked so sad and forlorn
I felt sorry for the poor divil so threw him out a piece of bread
Well the very next day he lands on my windowsill (now I assume it's the same bird)
And he has something shiny in his beak
And he drops it on the windowsill
It's a ring! A Fancy Ring!!!
It's like he's saying "Thank You" for the bread.

So now... now I'm training up a whole squadron of magpies.
A bit of a fantasy this.
 Feb 22 st64
badwords
'Empathy'
 Feb 22 st64
badwords
You say you spilled your guts,
bled for a love that drained you dry—
your wounds are real, raw,
carved in shadows of pain.
You call yourself an empath,
and name your enemy a vampire;
it's clean, it's simple,
a comforting division
of white knights and dark demons,
a story that absolves,
that keeps you safe,
but what if it's just another cage?

No one doubts your hurt—
it breathes in every line,
a trembling hand,
seeking solace in naming the villain.
Yet you draw the battle lines
in shades of absolutes,
as if hearts and scars
could be painted in pure black and white.
Empath versus vampire,
saint versus sinner,
but where, in these crisp edges,
is the fragile truth
that all are wounded,
that all who wound were wounded too?

You speak of healing,
and yet weaponize words
that were meant to mend,
to stitch and soothe,
to rewrite old traumas
into songs of understanding.
Instead, they sharpen,
twisting therapy into blades
that cut only one way,
and you—
the so-called empath—
risk becoming the wielder,
carving villainy from vulnerability.

Have you looked into the mirror,
beyond the mask of innocence?
Have you asked why you clung
to toxic tides,
why self-abandonment
became your chosen dance?
Did you ever wonder
how your wounds
might have wounded too,
that love and pain
can flow in circles,
a symbiosis of mutual hurt,
no vampire, no angel—
just two lost souls
tangled in the dark?

True empathy is not selective,
cannot bloom only
for the ones we deem worthy.
Empathy, fully known,
holds space even for those
whose brokenness
has broken us.
It asks the hardest questions,
dares to understand
even when understanding stings.
It does not absolve blindly,
nor condemn swiftly—
it sees humans, not monsters,
in the shadows we cast.

You say you broke the cycle,
and yet the cycle lives
in words of blame,
of unexamined anger,
of self-righteous tears.
Healing lies not in battle cries
of "empath versus vampire,"
but in the quiet admission
that pain is complex,
that every villain
once called themselves a victim,
that every victim
holds the power
to wound, to misunderstand,
to refuse the mirror's harsh truth.

Step beyond the narrative
of simple heroes and villains.
Let healing rewrite itself,
not as absolution,
but as accountability.
Not as innocence reclaimed,
but as wisdom earned.
Let empathy grow vast,
embracing all that hurts—
yours, theirs, ours—
until labels dissolve,
and the enemy,
once dehumanized,
stands revealed:
not as a vampire,
but a reflection
of our deepest, shared humanity.

For only then,
when we own our part,
when we see ourselves in the other,
can wounds become windows,
and love—
messy, flawed, imperfect—
find room to breathe,
not as war,
but as mutual forgiveness,
one humble step at a time.
An answer to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4985445/the-aftermath-of-narcissist-vs-empath/

'Empathy' is a reflective long-form poem that challenges the simplistic narrative often found in discourse about toxic relationships—particularly those labeling one party as an "empath" and the other as a "vampire" or narcissist. The poem critiques the ease with which individuals absolve themselves of accountability by adopting the empath identity, highlighting the potential harm in using therapeutic language to demonize others. Rather than perpetuating a binary of victim and villain, the poem urges introspection, mutual empathy, and the recognition that true healing requires acknowledging the complexities of human relationships. It calls for a deeper understanding, urging individuals to confront their own roles in painful dynamics, encouraging growth beyond blame.


The artist’s intent behind this counter-poem is rooted in genuine compassion, self-reflection, and the desire for authentic healing. Rather than dismissing the pain experienced by self-identified empaths, the artist aims to deepen the conversation by introducing nuance and balance. They seek to gently challenge readers to examine their own contributions to toxic relationships, inviting a more holistic form of empathy that extends even to those who've caused harm. This work does not minimize suffering but proposes that true recovery and peace are possible only through mutual understanding, accountability, and self-awareness. Ultimately, the artist intends to foster dialogue that moves beyond simplistic blame, transforming personal pain into collective wisdom, and encouraging healing grounded in shared humanity.

___


In contemporary discussions about relationships, trauma, and healing, therapeutic and psychiatric terminology has become commonplace. Words like “empath,” “narcissist,” “trauma bond,” and “gaslighting” have moved from clinical contexts into everyday language, offering powerful tools for understanding and validating personal experiences. However, this widespread adoption of psychiatric vocabulary also brings a significant and often overlooked risk: the potential to weaponize language intended for healing.

This poem and its counterpoint reveal a critical tension in the way therapeutic terms can be used not only to foster self-awareness and growth but also to cast blame, absolve oneself of accountability, or demonize others. In the name of healing, these terms are sometimes wielded to categorize individuals into simplistic binaries—victim versus villain, empath versus vampire—stripping relationships of nuance and reducing complex human interactions to harmful caricatures.

The danger here is subtle yet profound. While therapeutic language can empower individuals to recognize abuse or validate their pain, it can also become a shield against uncomfortable introspection. Labels like “empath” and “energy vampire” risk becoming identity markers that allow individuals to project unresolved personal wounds outward, bypassing genuine reflection on their own roles, responsibilities, and contributions to relationship dynamics.

This phenomenon does not dismiss the real and profound pain experienced by many; rather, it calls for caution and balance in the use of psychiatric language. The intent behind therapeutic terminology is always to heal, not to harm. Recognizing when these terms are weaponized—either consciously or unconsciously—invites a deeper ethical and psychological awareness. It challenges individuals and communities to ensure that the language of healing is used to build understanding and accountability, rather than to deepen divides, perpetuate victimhood, or justify harm under the guise of self-protection.

Ultimately, true healing requires using therapeutic concepts responsibly, fostering empathy that extends to all parties involved, including ourselves. Only then can these powerful tools fulfill their intended purpose: not to wage emotional battles, but to illuminate pathways toward authentic growth, understanding, and reconciliation.

___


It is essential to clearly state that the analysis, poem, and related discussions presented here are in no way intended to shame or blame victims of abuse, trauma, or emotional harm. Pain and suffering experienced by those who have been subjected to harmful relationships or behaviors are valid, real, and deserving of compassion and support.

The purpose of this discussion is not to diminish the significance of any individual's experience or to suggest victims bear responsibility for the hurt inflicted upon them. Rather, the conversation seeks to explore how therapeutic language and concepts—powerful tools for understanding and healing—can sometimes be unintentionally misused or simplified, potentially reinforcing harmful narratives or cycles of blame.

Encouraging accountability or reflection does not mean victims are responsible for their trauma. Instead, it acknowledges that healing is often complex, multi-faceted, and benefits from recognizing the interconnectedness of human relationships. The goal here is deeper understanding, never dismissal. This dialogue aims to support authentic healing journeys that recognize the profound pain of victims while also advocating for empathy, self-awareness, and mutual understanding as essential elements in the path toward recovery and emotional freedom.

In short, the commitment here remains firmly rooted in compassion, empathy, and support for all who suffer.
 Feb 22 st64
Agnes de Lods
Sun
 Feb 22 st64
Agnes de Lods
Sun
I dwell on thoughts,
I examine the sum of my experiences,
Sometimes, I spit out extreme emotions.
I search in vain for something common.
I observe the struggles of all conscious beings,
looking for a universal language
that unites rather than divides.
I know…
I won't be able to ...
I won't find...

Has everything already been said or written?
Fortunately, the sun is still there,
watching over me.
Its light always finds its way
to attract my soul like a magnet
calming gently
agitated states of consciousness…
I wrote this reflection two years ago. I think that all my life I have been preparing to find the courage to start writing. It has been a long journey, and there is still a long way ahead of me.  I used to think it would be music, but in my dreams, my voice was incomplete. It took me a long time to understand that writing my reflections would bring me the relief that I needed.
 Feb 21 st64
Amir Murtaza
I saw her in the bazaar
after so many days.
As always, her face was layered
with makeup—
not to beautify,
but to mask the bruises.
Time had worn her down,
yet she stood tall,
a quiet victory in her eyes.
She had finally severed the knot
of an abusive past,
and for the first time,
she looked free.
I’m all out of color -
the dim light fills my room,
casting shadows of a waning heart
across my cloud gray walls.
I can’t remember what it feels like
to eat from my heart
and drink from my soul -
what it feels like
to hold the weight of the world
in my palms.
My memories are painted
in colors I can’t quite recall,
my words sung in a melody
I can’t quite capture.
What’s left of me lies
inside these four walls,
complacent in my capture.
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