There are so many reasons why you never should:
I’m sometimes sullen, often shy, acutely sensitive.
My fears erupt as anger,
I find it hard to give,
I talk about myself when I’m afraid
and often spend a day without anything to say.
But I will make you laugh and love you quite a bit
and hold you when you’re sad.
I cry a little almost every day,
because I’m more caring than the strangers ever know.
And, at times I show my tender side
(that soft and warmer part I hide)
I wonder,
Will you be my friend?
A friend who far beyond the feebleness of any vow or tie,
will touch the secret place where I am really I.
To know the pain of lips that plead and eyes that weep,
who will not run away when you find me in the street,
alone and mangled by my quota of defeats,
but will stop and stay to tell me of another day
when I was a beautiful person,
Will you be my friend?
Often I’m too silly, seldom predictably the same,
I’ll always change.
I bluster and brag, seek attention like a child,
I brood and pout when threatened with abandonment.
But I will make you laugh and love you quite a bit
and be near when you’re afraid.
I shake a little almost every day
because I’m more frightened than the strangers ever know,
and if at times I show my trembling side
(the anxious, fearful part I hide),
I wonder,
Will you be my friend?
A friend who when I fear your closeness
feels me push you away
will stay to share what’s left on such a day,
who, when no on knows my name
or calls me on the phone,
when there’s no concern for me -
what I have or haven’t done -
and those I’ve helped and counted on,
have oh, so deftly run,
When there’s nothing left but me,
stripped of charm and subtlety,
will nonetheless remain.
Will you be my friend?
For no other reason that I know
except I want you so.