drained

i don't know how to "hangout" with people.
i don't know how to sit back and relax.
i don't know how to simply have fun anymore.
why can't i enjoy life?

i struggle with small talk.
i constantly feel as though each conversation i have has to go to the heart.
 
i'm sorry that when i look you in the eye it pierces straight to your soul.
i'm sorry that i can see straight past your "i'm okay" and your plastered smile.
you want to have real talk so that's when you call me up.
can't you just for once simply say "sup?"

i hate the surface level, but please don't try to go beyond that with me right now.
i don't want to spend time with you because i'm afraid you might ask how i really am.

i am fragile.

i prayed for a greater thirst, i was led to a desert.

compassion fatigue.

my gift of mercy, of empathy, drains me.
i hurt for you, with you.
i want to encourage you, but there's nothing left pour, but i feel everyone saying "we need more."
an empty jar. a dry and weary land.
yet there You are holding my hand.

there are things in life you can't talk to any person about.
so i pull up an empty chair and talk out loud, because i know You're there.

i beg for You to bring a fresh breath,
an encouraging word, a new face.

lack of motivation, stuck.

but then there's hope.

there is life in the desert.

the Rock will break and gush Living Water. it will quench.

"They did not thirst when He led them through the deserts; He made water flow for them from the rock; He split the rock and water gushed out." -isaiah 48:21