Pity wraps itself in soft disguises,
a velvet rope around tired ankles.
"Let me carry you," it murmurs sweetly,
but who asked for the burden shared?
It crowds spaces meant for breath,
pulling hunger from an empty plate,
turning resilience into something shameful,
a shaking head full of doubt, not pride.
Pity looks at you, then looks away,
afraid to meet the depth of struggle.
It salts wounds, calls it cleansing care,
marks you fragile with each passing glance.
Do not dress me in your sorrowed lace.
I was not seeking eyes to bear my grief.
To pity is a mirror’s cruel reflection;
it sees itself, but not the warrior whole.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 16th, 2025 12:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments3
Pity is a terrible monster hidden in disguise. A good write
It is a monster Soren. Thanks for sharing your feedback
Most welcome Gray
a deep write, enjoyed
Thanks Norman I appreciate your feedback
most welcome
"calls it cleansing care' 'care' as real help in time of need, yes; 'care' meaning pity no! You have that right in spades.
Words well rehearsed, actions nowhere to be seen.
Sorry - incoherently approving here (in case there's any doubt..)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.