Petite Poetry

I cry so many tears,

But no one ever sees,

How could they,

Being so caught up in their own vanity,

It seems crazy, I know,

To feel so hurt, by so many little uh-ohs,

Why can't I let it go,

Why must I take it so personally,

Is this what they call,

The artists' empathy.

So receptive to sound, light, and color,

Every word I take to heart,

What is this heightened feeling,

That only I seem to feel,

It's ripping at my soul,

And there is just nothing to be done,

Where oh where is my savior,

My , "only one",

Could you take the pain away,

One day is all I ask.

Share in this artists' empathy,

And see the crimson tears,

Come and see my techni-world,

See the rights and wrongs,

See the crimes committed,

See my broken heart.

September 13, 2005