How do you help me?
You can’t help?
No “woe is me”,
Just please don’t spit upon me sympathy.
“You’re okay”, “but at least..” you say
That my feelings aren’t real
And my pain should lay
Quiet until you’re gone.
Empathize and join me in the pit,
Down here ain’t no room for sympathy spit.
I’m real. You’re real. We’re human and pain is a thing.
Sometimes supposed sayings of comfort leave less of a calm and more of a sting.
So tell me my feelings are valid and present,
Connect with me via a feeling in you that understood my vent.
I’ll remind you of my hope in Jesus and you’ll realize all along
That empathy does not endorse self pity but sings a prophetic song.