A poem:
I’m not your therapist,
When you tell me your problems.
I can’t fix your traumas
or their causes.
I’m not your therapist,
when you keep me up late
or give me personal details
and share embarrassing takes.
But I am your friend,
And our talks build a bond.
We’re not therapists;
we’re humans, going on
to live lives and have moments
that make us feel things and grow closer.
I’m so glad I’m me,
your friend,
and not a therapist,
where the time will end.
It is an honor to see
your heart as I am,
and not as your therapist.
