I don’t know myself

or who owns my eyes.

I feel like an actor;

a ghost, a disguise,


I’m a colorless stranger

and I let myself rot;

but others are special,

and them, I do not.


Their troubles are mine,

about them, I care,

I urge them to speak,

to vent and to share.


I enter their bodies

and cleanse them of pain;

they grow lighter and free,

and comfort, they gain.


I may not be certain

of who I may be,

but I’m sure that compassion

is a big part of me. 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741