Empathetic by Dylon Martin

Some part of me craves petulant empathy,
which is to say being looked down upon is at least being seen at all.

It’s too late for me;
I’ve caged my pride and let my insecurity roam free,
taking the form of self deprecating remarks
ripping and clawing their way from my mouth.

There is no amount of reassurance that could dampen the tremendous hatred that i hold for myself,
Or so i’m told.

I am a disappointment, a nuisance, a pest,
a thundering cacophony of words burrowing through my head.

Please somebody take pity on me,
tell me you’re sorry,
knowing there’s nothing you’ve done wrong.
Whisper your impotent lies,
acknowledge me.

Please calm me down.

I’m sorry.

I am not satisfied,
I need you.
Tell me you’re sorry
I’m sorry
I need you.
I’m grasping at straws here,
I would feel much better if you felt much worse.

Please tell me you’re sorry.

I’m never going to live up to my expectations
Not that I’d ever want to

Because nothing could ever satiate my need for your validation.