I Depended on Your Joy, by Cailey Tarriane

I, bruised from healing your wounds, can heal you.
Sometimes you let me, sometimes your sorrow and grief
against hate transition to anger, aiming at me.

She struts in and out, back and forth, basking in the red carpet
that was none other than your life. Sometimes you let me help,

sometimes you listen after hearing my words, but only if they
were said by someone else. You needed opinion from an outsider,

and I searched for insight on your behalf, only to discover that

I am in the same situation with you as you were with her.