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Showing posts with the label empath

To cage one's own heart willingly...

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I hear a kind of sorrow in that idea, someone so attuned to others that they disappear from their own care. Here’s a poem around that feeling: There lives a soul who reads the ache In trembling smiles that others fake, Who hears the grief in laughter’s sound, And kneels where silent wounds are found. A keeper of unspoken fears, A witness soft to hidden tears, They gather storms from weary skies And hold them gently, asking, “Why?” How strange, how pitiful the art, To know each fracture of a heart, Yet turn no lantern to one’s own, And make of sorrow flesh and bone. For they will calm another’s sea, Whilst drowning where none care to see; Will stitch the wounds on stranger’s skin, Yet leave their own to ache within. They understand too much, perhaps, The grief between affection’s gaps, The trembling guilt, the sharpened shame, The quiet hurt with no true name. And so they bend, and so they stay, To light the dark in others’ way; Till kindness, noble though it seems, Consumes the keeper ...
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To cage one's own heart willingly...

-
Image
I hear a kind of sorrow in that idea, someone so attuned to others that they disappear from their own care. Here’s a poem around that feeling: There lives a soul who reads the ache In trembling smiles that others fake, Who hears the grief in laughter’s sound, And kneels where silent wounds are found. A keeper of unspoken fears, A witness soft to hidden tears, They gather storms from weary skies And hold them gently, asking, “Why?” How strange, how pitiful the art, To know each fracture of a heart, Yet turn no lantern to one’s own, And make of sorrow flesh and bone. For they will calm another’s sea, Whilst drowning where none care to see; Will stitch the wounds on stranger’s skin, Yet leave their own to ache within. They understand too much, perhaps, The grief between affection’s gaps, The trembling guilt, the sharpened shame, The quiet hurt with no true name. And so they bend, and so they stay, To light the dark in others’ way; Till kindness, noble though it seems, Consumes the keeper ...
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I Stay, Yet I Rise

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I read your storms before your skies turned gray, I knew your silence had too much to say. Your voice would tremble, mine would quietly bend, I wore my heart like armor, lover and friend. I stayed through shadows, guessed your hidden pain, Held pieces of you through thunder and rain. Yet when my oceans rose and pulled me apart, You stood like distance, not close to my heart. Tell me, what kind of love clocks out at night? Leaves at midnight and calls that feeling right? How do you whisper “I care” then disappear, When the one who loves you is drowning in fear? I know, I know you care in ways you can, You stayed till two, till three , tried to understand. But love is not counted in rare borrowed hours, It is presence in weakness, not petals and flowers. And maybe, yes, I hid tears in my chest, Pretended my breaking deserved little rest. Maybe I never screamed, “Please, don’t you go,” Expected your heart to simply know. But darling, if I call you mine, even friend, I’d sit through the ni...
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Cherish the good heart...

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Sometimes a good heart is like a quiet candle in a loud room. It burns gently, gives warmth, and asks for nothing in return. But people often notice fireworks more than candles.  Not because the candle is less beautiful, but because the world has grown used to noise, not sincerity. A pure heart gives, listens, forgives, and stays. And because it stays, people begin to believe it will always stay. So they test it. They stretch it. Sometimes they break pieces of it… thinking it will still glow the same. And the good heart wonders: If I give so much love, why does no one hold it carefully? But the truth is, many people do not recognize the value of a gentle soul until they have already wounded it. A good heart wants to be cherished not because it is weak, but because love, by its nature, longs to be received. A river does not flow only to itself, it flows to reach the ocean. 🌊 But one day, the pure heart learns something deeper. Not through advice. Not through books. But through sile...
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The world needs to see you be human...

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The world has to see you as human, Not perfect, not sculpted in gold. One-handed truths, As long as you are invisible to yourself, you are invisible To the stories you’ve never told. It does not require perfect answers Or smiles that never break. “It needs your trembling courage,” he said, And the risks you’re afraid to take. Be human through all of your becoming, In the nights you don’t feel enough A line of people In the stillness of your troubles, In the days when breathing feels tough. Let them understand the meaning of your tears, Every one a truth you survived. Let them see how you fall apart And still want to go on living. It is distant and cold, perfection; It teaches the heart to pretend, to conceal. But humanity holds out its hands And says, “You don’t have to mend.” Your scars aren’t a sign of weakness They prove that you at least tried. What you loved with an open heart, And refused to feel numb inside. So show up messy and honest, With faith...
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