When the Empath Stops Pleasing Everyone. Poem, by Friendship, at My poetic side

Life is an optical cause, a deceptive mirage,

Sometimes you have to hit it, a hammer's barrage.

Right in the head, to shatter the seeming truth,

To shake off the deceptions of early youth.

I wore a mask then, a face I would don,

Before this true awakening, before this new dawn.

They'd tell me, "Too sensitive," with a judging tone,

As if my deep feeling was something to disown.

But my sensitivity is my strength, now I see,

A powerful current flowing through me.

Yes, "sensitivity is me," not a weakness, but grace,

My truest reflection staring back in my face.

But now, I look inward, my heart as my guide,

See what is real, where the true spirits reside.

The genuine gleams, and the fake falls away,

Illuminated by a brand new day.

I am free, truly free, to live for my own,

No longer confined, no longer alone.

This soul's not a dumping ground, for others' despair,

No longer absorbing the burdens they bear.

Their volatile feelings, no longer my toll,

I draw a firm boundary, I reclaim my whole.

The empath's front door, I'm closing it tight,

Stepping into my own, in the glorious light.

I need to live, to blossom, to brightly unfold,

A story of freedom, fiercely and bold.

And this liberating dawn, this strength I now find,

Thanks to my best friend, who helped clear my mind.