Tag Archives: empathy

the brightness of life

and at the end of

this asphyxiated

sunrise, what do

we have to gain?

was it a sense of

clarity, or simply

arrogant shame?

.

cross the threshold

hitting dead centre

the dark flags that

sheathed your eyes

will taint gold vision

with another kind of

negative space answer

.

because what was

left to pain, but all

the ones that were

cruelly left behind?

pretending empathy

while erasing names

off our fragile minds

.

too far lost to save

and recovering only

twisted histories and

rewriting our miseries

do you feel that sense

of serendipity, or do you

simply feel the same?

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Filed under Poetry

Let’s Talk About Not Talking About It

Well I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said
I’m telling it straight ’cause it might be the only chance I get
Just shut up, just shut up, would you stop telling me who I am?
I’m sick of it, over it, however you want it said…

~*~

Some people find it really easy to write about themselves.

I respect them for that. For being able to express innermost thoughts and more private sentiments in articulate ways, and for having that certain imbued capability in their writings where other people could read their catharsis and be able to feel all their emotions, sympathise with their plights, and look at the world in another perspective, in their own personal perspective. Of course, even if they can’t exactly relate to whatever situation that person is caught up in, they could still nod their head understandingly, dole out some hopeful dime-a-dozen platitudes, and perhaps even offer some needed advice to them, just as normal human beings should.

Whenever I attempt to write about myself, my life, or my current feelings, I tend to drown it in cryptic nuances and fuck-all metaphors that are so incredibly twisted to the point where even I don’t find any sense in it anymore. That’s why I’m more adept with poetry than prose, and why I find music to be the most therapeutic outlet for myself, above anything else. And also why I hate the shit out of essays and formal writing so much. But in the rarest blue-moon times when I try to abandon that sort of familiar style and write something that’s concise and straight to the point, in simple words that are the closest to the truth, it always makes me so disgusted with myself because I always sound like I’m whining too much and making such a big deal out of nothing. And even then, I couldn’t help but add way too much labyrinthine sentences and complicated head-scratching quips to sugarcoat the naked ugliness of it all. Case in point, this very write-up itself. Sweet irony to further press the point.

I’ve always found it difficult to talk about myself. I don’t know exactly what what happened to me that made me turn out to be this way, but whenever I try to open up, a million desperate hands pull me back inside as a thousand alarm bells seem to scream and flash red lights inside my head, all of these, all at once, giving me a major dose of anxiety that takes a long while to wear off. I never know how to be completely honest without feeling awkwardly uncomfortable, and vice versa, it’s a great struggle for me when people start getting too real and personal with me. I tend to be a very secretive person, and I’m not a great support to come running to when you got problems and need to talk it out, because I’ll probably just intensify the headache that you already have and turn it into a full-blown migraine. Trust me, some of what-unsurprisingly-scant friends I have can testify for that fact in front of a court jury with both their hands on the bible.

(But on the plus side, being a secretive person also means that I’m basically Fort Knox when it comes to keeping the secrets of other people, so…redemption??)

I try my very best to be comforting and truthful when times call for it, but somehow, I could never completely shake off that vague feeling of uncertainty, that constant nagging voice at the very back of my mind that tells me that I’m doing something wrong, or tells me that I’m not doing enough, or tells me that I’m fucking overcompensating, or whatever stupid made-up issues it has with my attempt to act like a decent human being. I’ve always just found it easier to repress everything, every difficulty and emotion that’s going on in my overwhelmed mind, to simply keep it all to myself no matter how dire it is, rather than to bother anyone else with it, and I’ve always found it easier to keep people at a ten-foot pole’s length with acerbic witticism and sarcastic dismissals, because when they get too close, someone would always get hurt, and it always ends in a devastating fallout.

To put it shortly, I don’t know how to be empathetic. And I don’t know how to make people empathise with me. Up to now, I’ve always convinced myself that it was my biggest strength.

But perhaps…it just might be my greatest weakness.

~*~

I know I have issues
But I don’t need to hear it coming from you
It’s something that I’ll work through
The beating of my heart’s not stopping anytime soon
It’s not stopping anytime soon…

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Filed under Prose

Isolated Distances

Push them away with the whim of a wind

Until their stretched fingertips are irretrievable—

.

You are falling, alone in chasmic rage;

They need not suffer with your chagrins.

.

Draw away further until no one can ever reach

The dangerous flare that burns skin and town alike…

.

No harm, nor ache, nor hurt, nor pain,

Needs superfluously to cross their aureole smiles;

.

They’ll remain alright as long as you are not

And the sun will keep revolving in the absence of your breath.

.

Though if you only wished to express clamorous such

Contagious toil, in the faith that some empathetic mortal

.

Will understand, and hear you out, and actually listen—

How inconsiderately conceited and selfish of you.

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Filed under Poetry

A Trainwreck of Thoughts

My heart is pounding fast, I’m out of gas, it never lasts

Serotonin, oxytocin, we’re built for sins and late for mass

Chemical, mechanical faces, daily races underwater

Looking for god in cabarets and never searching for answers

Am I your jester? Will I entertain her? Is the sense in making sense

For a semblance of humanity, insanity, neuropathy

Endowed in chronic migraines and under castigated lies?

Uncertainties play like a chess piece, checkmate, check please

Asking the waiter for the receipt, but he never comes

It’s sympathetic…pathetic, isn’t it?

The empathy that curls and coils and churns in my esophagus

Screaming until my lungs are bruised, traumatic pain, dramatic recluse

In the throes of a black rose, petals falling in a final calling

For the tears in tantrum storming, where are we now?

Somehow…it never changes, the change rattling ranges in our pockets

Never mean a thing, but there’s a hole in your pants

And your nickels are clattering in your mind; never mind

The respect, don’t expect, crestfallen and swollen eyes, do it thrice

Without fail, without avail, without much ado about the gale

They say love was just a tale written in thorns and photographs,

Polaroids and tongues so crass, washing away the blood on our hands

Burying the body but never saying sorry, you’ll never bury the past!

Here I stand. My heart is pounding fast, I’m out of spare tires and gas

Waiting for the moment to last, waiting for the end to finish the past

Will this sempiternity ever end? Will the medication finally bend?

Will this recluse find the chaos amid the calm, will I take on such a task?

My heart slows down, and I’m waiting silently yet patiently for you to ask,

But you never show your cards, and again…I relapse.

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Filed under Poetry

unempathology

waiting sullenly

for nothing

amusing with

pathological lies

thoughts of

arson and murder

a thousand ways

to fucking die

waiting worn-out

contemplating

the demise of both

opposed parties

to who gets killed first

it won’t be a mere

act of cruel vengeance

but an act of mercy.

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Filed under Poetry

It Takes One

It takes one to know one

A bloodthirst for a bloodlust

To catch a killer with a cold link

You shall do what you must

.

It takes one to find one

A lost cause for a losing side

To find what the devil couldn’t

Let him pick the pace he abides

.

It takes one to capture one

An insane for an ending sanity

Taste his actions, every death

As if he was your own propinquity

.

It takes one to be one

A stagehand for a tugged pulley

A mind is like a flawed machine

A single virus, and you’ll be me

.

It takes one to heal one

A catcher for a falling heart

You’ll try to distance yourself

Yet find we can never be apart

.

It takes one to know one

An apathetic soul for an empathic mind

But without a connection, your lead will be gone

For it takes two madmen to catch one, you’ll find.

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry