The Empties

The Empties

The angry ones challenge me,

the crossed arms and narrow eyes

committed to their own silent rebellions.


The hand-wringers endear themselves to me,

the ones with too much time to tangle themselves

inside their own neuroses.


The desperate ones touch me,

the wet eyes and shaking shoulders

hungry for help.


The victims ignite me,

the ones who’ve forgotten about kindness

and only recognize cruelty.


But the empties, the empties defeat me,

the thick shields and vacant stares

who have energy for nothing, not even giving up.

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