I’m not sure why I feel this way.
Do others feel it too?

Empathy makes me who I am,
but it cuts deep,
a sharp pain around my heart.

It’s not that I hate you—
but I hate what you’ve done to me.
Whoever did this,
I hate you.

Why do I carry this burden?
Have you hurt someone else?
I hope I’m not alone in this.
Maybe others feel
this same hurt—
alone, breaking.

I get lost in the TV screen,
wishing I could be like them.
Those creatures can switch off their humanity,
feel nothing.

They’re called monsters,
but I’d take being a monster
over this feeling.

Am I being dramatic?

No matter how hard I try,
I can’t stop caring.
It’s who I am.
It gets the best of me,
always.
I fight it,
but it bites back.

Do I deserve this?

Caring too much is my curse.
My heart wins over my head,
every time.

I wish it didn’t—
I wouldn’t get hurt so often
by those who don’t care for me.
They say they care,
but do the opposite.
Then get angry when I do the same.

Let me be one of those creatures on TV.
Call me a monster
if it means I’ll never feel this way.

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