“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 around 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 has 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.
Sacrifices become the bridge we cross,
And help our fears dispel.
Show up, even when 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 will commit to the compromise,
Nurture bonds of our camaraderie,
Become better versions of ourselves,
Resolve conflicts, refuse 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.
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