Fixation of empathy


On my worst days when my head is hanging low
My feet are dragging behind me
I don’t want anyone to find me
I’m better on my own
A pen in my hand, or keyboard below my wrists
I write my stories in the mist
A fog that surrounds me
It is where poetry flows
When I’m at my lowest points
Empathy, I am told is a tool for manipulation
My fixation
A vulnerability inside me
It grows
A weed, needing to be picked
Instead, I type to get my fix
For this broken, child desires sympathetic consideration
A tender touch
To be held in more than lust
If only in words that create meaning
Will I get this by deceiving
Creating characters on the page
Who I can manipulate at my hand
The main character I give her love
It’s always enough
She has friends full of empathy
To complete the fix they claim is me.
Angela K. Crandall


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