My words are consistently misconstrued? Poem, by Friendship, at My poetic side

My words are consistently misconstrued?

My mind's a tangled skein, a heavy, buzzing hive,

A thousand thoughts competing, just to stay alive.

The weight of what I carry, a cloak I cannot shed,

Unspoken burdens whispered, in the quiet of my head.

There's so much on this landscape, a current deep and vast,

A future's anxious whisper, a lingering, echo past.

But tell me, in this turmoil, this ceaseless, inward fight,

When did I ask for guidance, to show me wrong from right

On how to be a friend? A patronizing hand,

To sculpt a core emotion, you claim to understand

Better than I do, who's lived it, felt its grace,

As if a vital part of me has vanished from its place.

For I have always known it, the warmth of steadfast ties,

The quiet comfort offered in another's trusting eyes.

I've held a hand, and listened to the silent, spoken plea,

Shared laughter, loss, and solace, with true empathy.

The art of genuine connection, it resides within my soul,

A natural, flowing river, that makes the broken whole.

My words were simply these: "I don't get along so well

With others," a distinction, a truth I had to tell.

Not that I lack the spirit, the kindness or the might

To truly be a friend, and shine a heartfelt light.

But rather, the strange friction, the superficial hum,

The chasm between frequencies, where common ground won't come.

So keep your unearned lessons on how a heart should bend,

I know how to be a friend; it's the getting along I contend.