i am the shoulder, the steady stone,
the one they call when they’re alone.
their tears spill oceans, their hearts unwind,
and i am the net they always find.

i speak in calm, in careful tones,
patching the cracks of fractured bones.
but their pain lingers, it sticks like glue,
and when they leave, it stays here too.

my head is heavy, my chest feels tight,
their sorrows haunt me late at night.
i hold their secrets, their battles, their scars,
but who will hold mine when they’re as vast as stars?

i smile and nod, my voice stays kind,
though my own thoughts crowd my mind.
because the therapist friend cannot fall,
there’s no one to answer their late-night call.

i’m their lifeline, their beacon, their guide,
but i’m drowning too, just better at hide.
how do i whisper, how do i confess,
that i’m a mess beneath their mess?

so here i stand, their rock, their ground,
but longing, aching to be found.
because even stones will crack and break—
even therapists need a hand to take.