I Hate Empathy

What is this feeling
I’m always longing for,
like a tramp who is starving
for the everyday meals
he never had before.
Like a child who wishes
to meet his beloved mother
who didn’t make it
at the time, he was born.
A strange desire,
hard to disregard.
A strange sense
for longing to not feel alone
in this world
for those who are misunderstood;
for those who crave
something more than sympathy,
a treasure that is worthy,
but you can’t hold it for long.
People would pat your back
and assure you that it’s okay.
I say it’s never alright
and will not be until that someone
would come save me from the tower
that I isolated myself in,
only those who asked
to let my hair down
knows how heavy they are,
but they continue to climb
to the point where they reach
the very top of my confinement
because they knew it
too.

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