Compassion Collapse

Eliana Hadjiandreou
Resistance Poetry
Published in
2 min readNov 13, 2020
image source: Pikist

Burning buildings and babies in wells.

The sun is rising.

Doctors without borders, borders without doctors.

Can I breathe?

Syrian refugees drowning in faint hope.

Their boats and hearts full of optimism and despair.

Can they breathe?

“Police brutality and poverty” I read in the morning newspaper while I sip on my latte.

Latte is a strong word for people looking away, I like “later” better.

I breathe.

Caffeinated beverages preferred over water, dirty water preferred over Flint’s health.

My lungs are full.

Homeless man talking on the subway, Yemenis without roof under the noon sun.

It’s my lunch break, and someone else’s problem.

Katrina, Sandy, and Maria said they tested our ties and found them weak.

But women are to be groped and not to be listened to.

I’m getting uncomfortable.

The man on the cross is looking down, the man on the crosswalk is looking up.

Do you have change?

Change seems inappropriate in the afternoons, I have deadlines to meet.

My breathing gets faster.

A deadline to meet is expected, an eye gaze to meet is just optional.

It’s time for dinner.

White rice and black beans, black lives matter on TV — where’s the remote?

The sun is setting.

My Fitbit says 10,000 steps — I’m a hero — my heart says it’s closer to zero.

How do I change?

My morals are weak and so are my limbs.

They said an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind — what about a tear for a tear?

Walk in someone else’s shoes.

My thoughts and prayers are sent through the wind, and I unwind.

My breathing gets slower.

Walk in your own shoes as if they were someone else’s.

It’s close to midnight.

If I reach into my wallet but not my heart, what will they think?

I have change.

I reach into my heart but not my wallet, what will they say?

My heart is bleeding.

One step at a time, one tear at a time, one dollar at a time.

It takes effort.

Door closed and lights turned off — it’s time for bed.

Tears to be dried, stomachs to be filled, chains to be shackled — they’re drowning out.

My breathing gets deeper.

I’m drifting in self — created peace.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

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