For the fight of friends.
“I’m not good at making friends…”
My mind was clear when I said this
Transparency created by routine rinses
Of tears, makeup wipes, and exes
“He’s pissing me off.” “She won’t text back.”
“Solitude is where my peace is at.”
Things I’d hear in and out of my head
Noise over a weeping cardiac
“Isn’t friendship supposed to be easy
Joyous, fair, maybe a bit reckless?”
“Why would I rent an Airbnb
To sleep on the floor while they take the mattress?”
It’s hard to argue with a heart that's cracked,
Where scars have hardened into stone.
The warmth of love long vanished,
Replaced by the chills of being alone
I joined the Peace Corps, eager to give,
To share the knowledge I obtained through luck
But with time, I see they didn’t need me —
It was I who needed to be unstuck
Fiji pounds lessons of social fabric
To depend on each other to excel
Sacrifice becomes the bridge we cross,
And help our fears dispel
Show up, even when your spirit resists.
Stay late, help clean, mend what's torn.
Offer grace when their faults persist —
It’s how love is shaped and reborn.
We must commit to the compromise
Nurture bonds with the community
Become better versions of ourselves
Rise above conflicts and the urge to flee
“I’m not good at making friends,”
I say, but I hope it’s not true.
For maybe, just maybe, others will try
To fight through our friendship too.
