Will you be my friend? There are so many reasons why you never should; I am sometimes
sullen often shy, acutely sensitive, my fear errupts as anger, I find it hard to give, I talk
about myself when I am 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 are sad. I cry a little almost everyday, because I am more caring than the strangers ever know and if at times I
show my tender side, the 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 tying mangled by my quota of defeats, but will stop and stay to tell me of another day
when I was beautiful?
Will you be my friend? There are so many reasons why you never should; often I am to sercious, seldom predictably the same, sometimes cold and distant, probably I will always change, I bluster and brag, seek attention like a child, I brood and pout, my anger can be wild. But I will make you laugh and love you quite a bit and be near you when you
are afraid. I shake a little almost every day because I am more frightended than the strangers ever will know. And if at times I show my trembling side, the anxious and fearul
part I hide.
I wonder will you be my friend? A friend who when I fear your closeness feels me push away and stubbornly will stay to share what's left on such a day? Who when no-one knows my name, or calls me on the phone, when there's no concern for me-what I have or have not done- and those I've counted on have oh so deftly run, who when there's nothing left but me, stripped of charm and subtlely will none the less remain? Will you be my friend? For no reason that I know, except, I want you so.
