The Art of Emptyness

Everyone in the world hates me,
and I don't blame them.


The treatment of others
has left me hollowed out.


I inhaled each affliction
and internalized every insult.


They mistake my chest rising
as breathing
when I'm really suffocating.


At some point I started
believing their words:
"You are worthless".


It became my mantra,
and I repeated it
until it became my identity.


The art of emptyness
is easy to master.


At some point I accepted the treatment
I thought I deserved.


The pain eventually went away;
this vacant soul took its place.


But still from the depths,
I could hear a distant sound,
an echo in my chest.


It was me, screaming
to be found
inside this broken heart.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

“It was good for a while, being empty. I didn’t hurt anymore. But as time went on, it was like I could hear myself from far away, begging for permission to come back.”
Myra McEntire, Hourglass

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