I don’t want to care.
I don’t want my tears.
Not yours either.
I don’t want the strength of it.

For I see where it leads,
That slow bloom of anger.
Of hate misunderstood.

Your empathy comes with fists.
To go with your black heart.
Crafted by one sided views.
Like most fashions that touch us.

While I mourn that you see it so,
I mourn because I see it too.
My world is changing.
With you, shaping it.

I can do nothing.
So I shed no tear.
Not for you. Not for him.
For helplessness maybe.
Not for me.