L'Albatross

The Seagull

When I close my eyes, I could always recall
Vivid memories in white and black
Every moment my poor little heart
Received a good thrashing and 
Got itself cracked
I looked and looked for a wise doctor
But no one had a knack for mending the broken
When it can't be touched
So when the bones of my soul started to whimper
And pride and vanity became a cumber
I decided that I should learn the trade myself
At first I was my only patient
But with time I became an excellent quack
Patched a good deal of chests
And my patients would flock 
Their sorrows they'd stack on my desk
And I believed I could fix the world, if broken
Even grow rich if I could collect some tokens
With every examination, grapes of rage grew
Along my ribs
These fools with riches to spend and hearts so sickly
How could these louts lack the courtesy and tact
To compare their scratches to my smashed bits?
When I was in your shoes you were so self absorbed
To notice the agony that I would hide behind a smile
So meticulously
My compassionate conscience would wring and chide
So to listen, as I do, I would soon abide
But the weight of the aches was too much to bear
An Albatross off my neck I couldn't tear

My fragile heart couldn't take the shear
Pressure of emotions clasping from every side
Being a doctor, for fun, takes its toll on the soul
This causes wear on the long run
Though I made it my trade and transfigured it
Into some form of art
Alas, a doctor that gets sick by healing folks
Is better off becoming a hack
Spreading patches of poetry on their sores.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is addressed to no one,
This is addressed to everyone,

Why do you think it is okay to open up to me, to let me know about your miserable encounters, all the misfortunes that befell your sorry life and weigh me down with your 'sufferings', totally ignoring the fact that i, too, not only have my own problems, but that i need you to listen to me as well......and fix me.

Wretch.

It is the height of exploitation and abuse to take advantage of someone's compassion, knowing fully well that they are always willing to shoulder the weight with you, because that's what they do, because without the weight of compassion, their existence is just too light to hold still on earth...because the unbearable lightness of their being is what makes them soar in the air like a stray balloon, desperately trying to cling for salvation.

"For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

You don't need to tell me how broken you are, i'll figure it out myself, and i'll fix you. Without you noticing.
That's my life-long curse, and it's also my pride and joy.
You'll get better without ever knowing that i was the one who fixed you, and if you did; the patient shall never repay the doctor for his services because he thinks the doctor does that for internal satisfaction.

Well, what do ya know ?, maybe he's right.

It's very difficult to constantly have to weigh your words and always try to think of the right thing to say, because you know well that every syllable you articulate is going to have dire consequences.
It's a tough responsibility that comes with wisdom; a wisdom that i don't really think i possess, but allegedly attributed to me by virtue of my good counsel.

The question is, why do i care so much ?
Why do I have to be so compassionate as to think ahead of the consequences of my advice lest it ruins a life? The one who seeks solutions should handle all the side effects themselves.

Why do I take it upon myself to fix people, when nobody bothered,bothers, to fix the broken ME ?

And why do i think i'm special enough,being on a higher mental plane, that I was assigned a specific role in this life ;to fix what's broken ?

Compassion is such a dire malady, dear batushka.
I don't want it.
I didn't ask for it.
I was looking for an anchor to keep me down, but instead I got a seagull wrapped too tight around my neck it's becoming harder and harder to breathe.

It's true that i find it delectable to fix people, and it is true that no doctor out there can heal me when i'm sick , for even if there were; i would defy them out of spite; because i know better and i have more experience in fixing wreckage i'd rather spare myself the trouble and the embarrassment.

But i'm actually hurt that no one really ventured to examine me for emotional ailment.

Do I look, by any chance, like a problem-free person ? A happy person that has the luxury of offering counsel to the unfortunate ? because that's the reverse vibe i get from people around me.
Doctors get sick too, haven't you heard ?

“To have compassion for those who suffer is a human quality which everyone should possess, especially those who have required comfort themselves in the past and have managed to find it in others. ”

Confound you, Bocaccio. You are a fool, and you don't know what you are talking about. It is those who did not find comfort in others that know how empty it feels, how light it feels, and make it their life's mission to be the balsam of the heartaches and the Atlas that shoulders everyone's weight.