Empath your empty
Empath your tipsy
Empath you fifty
Empath you get me
What’s left after the drop of your dime
Who’s son can steal you shine ?
Which path is truly divine ?
Where’s love when you don’t have time ?
Senseless depictions from the oppositions
Y’all all start sounding the same
Y’all all told me stay in my lane
Y’all all judge with no shame
Y’all all want something to tame
Y’all all wanting glitz and fame
I’m not content with the story you wrote
You wrote it for me not for me
You waited for me or you
Waded for me?
Can you play it for me
But not say it for me ?
Did you study me in school or
You assumed you mastered a craft
You assumed I don’t know math
Adding pieces just to subtract
Saying things I can’t take back
Staying grateful so I don’t feel lack
Empath your empty
Empath your tipsy
Empath you fifty
Empath you get me
About the Creator
Amourè Deezyy
Unorthodox woman creating soul-feeding content for great people who are connecting with themselves.
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More stories from Amourè Deezyy and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Am a Prisoner who Dreams of Prisons
The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Such a brilliant play on words - "You wrote it for me not for me" - loved it!