Friendship

They love to judge you.

They love to judge you.

The world demands a callous skin,

A fortress built of stone and pride,

And mocks the softness held within,

The tender light I keep inside.

They do not see the sudden storm,

The fractured map behind your eyes,

Where silence takes a heavy form

And quite aches begin to rise.

A slip of mind, a fragile thread,

The echo of a phantom blow—

They judge the spinning in your head,

The pace at which I need to go.

They call the feeling \"weak\" or \"slow,\"

Forgetting all the strength it takes

To let the deepest currents flow

Across the glass that never breaks,

But only bears the spider-lines

Of battles fought in muted air.

To judge a soul because it shines

Through hollows built of blunt despair—

It is a cruelty, cold and blind,

To measure worth by stoic walls,

And leave the gentleness behind

Whenever darkened shadow falls.

For wisdom grows in quiet rooms,

And empathy is hard-won grace;

It is not weakness that consumes,

But light reflecting on your face.

So let them watch with narrow sight,

And measure what they cannot see;

I am the morning, soft and bright,

And they are not the judge of you.