The Wishing Well

a poem about weaponization of empathy | Juneteenth special

The guilt rises in my stomach, when I yell at you about how unfair you are to me. That’s no way to communicate, even if I keep having to protect myself from you. Little did I know that people pleasing is a way to be understood, by anyone who decides if they should. When I try to communicate lightly, you push the buttons that I once obscured. It’s like a game to you, to hear that I care about you in a way that shows you that you can keep dabbling in my feelings. Like a wishing well to manage your insecurities. Throw a penny then and see which side it lands on. I am so tired of gambling with my love. I have so much to give and while you’re playing tic tac toe, all I can think about is how to detach. A loss for words for what I keep going through, just because I carry something you are looking for inside yourself.

not my picture