Will you be my friend There are so many reasons why you never should. I'm sometimes sullen, often shy, acutely sensitive. My fear erupts 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, 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 lying 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'm too serious, seldom predictably the same, sometimes cold and distant, probably I'll 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 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 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 haven't done- and those I've helped and counted on have, oh so deftly run, who, when there's nothing left but me, stripped of charm and subtlety, will nonetheless remain: Will you be my friend? for no reason that I know except I want you so.