Conditional, conventional, this heart,
And the tough thin cloak I wear.
I give it to the few friends I make,
With room and love, always, to spare.
I met you in the valley, but the evidence was there,
Your eyes hid the fear and weariness,
Deep within the fire of a stare.
Or retreated, free from scrutiny,
To hide behind the fall of your hair.
The secrets, however, weren't easy to guess,
And for your good, I would do my part.
So I know that your void is filled with less,
Than fits your past or your darkest art.
I've seen your anger, wrath, and need:
It was protecting a kind and generous heart.
Your friendship was a gift, you trusted in me,
I trusted in you, which was better, I felt,
Than calling out the humanity I see,
Within the rotten hand you were dealt.
I hope that I brought to you something of use,
Listening was the only thing that I knew how to give.
If I brought you harm, or cause for alarm,
Then the shame would stay with me
for as long as I live.
They say that friendship is a place we go,
When two, or more, are there, it is real.
I'm confused but trying to understand,
And I'm more than confident,
that you know how that feels.
Once upon a time, I was either the biggest ******* in the world or severely misunderstood. Either way, I lost the friendship of a good person and wrote this when it was still painful. I hated myself for whatever the transgression was, though it's all history now.