the ache i dont have but know

I’m going to be honest I can’t help who I am.

I can’t help that every single time I see the homeless I feel an ache in my back from the cold hard ground they lay on.

That whenever my mom says ow I say ooh

How when  I see the small girl crying I can feel the sweet tears slide down my face and soak up into my hands.

Or how the anger rises from beneath those who have been mistreated and I feel that same heat rise from stomach to my ears knocking on my brain of frustration.

I can’t help that every time I see two young lovers I feel their lips touching as if they were my own and the gooey exchange of spit I touch the magic on each hair of my body.

I can’t help but feel your pain.