Twenty winters pt-2

At seventeen, they spoke of goals — Of legacies, of perfect roles. “Be the pride,” they said, “Be bold, be bright,” But I was just surviving night. They never knew the things I hid, The child who cried, the teen who slid. Behind good grades and silence deep, I buried wounds too dark to weep. Now I stand at twenty’s door, Not a boy, but something more. Not quite whole, not quite broke, A ghost beneath this heavy cloak. I want a friend — not to be fixed — Not judged, not watched, not even mixed With pity or with shallow cheer — Just someone real who stays near. But trust? That’s rust on every lock, A fragile bridge on shattered rock. I flinch at kindness, doubt the warm, Too many times it's been the storm. Still, I ache for just one soul Who doesn’t leave, who helps me feel whole.