Maybe I’m too much like you,
if I’d let it show.
But some protective part of me
won’t let my real self go.
Every time I look at you
the reflection brings it back.
If only I could just return
the affection I now lack.
So willingly you share yourself
as I hide in my fears.
The patience that you’ve shown with me
should justify my tears.
For they’re not in my loneliness
but for that part of you
that tolerates, without complaint,
all the things I do.
But calloused as I seem to be
it’s heartfelt when I say
you’ve come to mean a lot to me
in a special sort of way.
© 1981
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