It might be because I genuinely care,

That with me people always seem to have plenty to share.

I'm always happy to lend my shoulder to cry on, loan my listening ear,

If it'll help someone's worries clear,

Or help cool their relentless fear.

I've heard so many things in my short life that I desensitize,

Not having experienced a lot, I love to imagine and empathize,

Maybe that's why I give the impression that I'll sympathize:

My motto is not judge,

And my number one rule is not to bear a grudge.

I'm frequently the middle ground, neutral territory,

But love the warming glow you get from aiding someone to their personal victory.

Even if I don't get any credit,

The fact that they've come to me with their problem and said it,

Despite there being so much about the world that I do not know,

It gives me purpose, the fact that they came to me even so.

And though I have no real qualifications or understanding, I hope my advice,

Which may not be heeded, listened to, will for those in need suffice.

I'm suited to being everyone's buffer,

But will everyone be there for me when my life gets tougher?

Who will guide me when I suffer?

I try to help, and in return I hope that the people in which I put my trust,

Are my buffer when my happy spiral eventually ends and my life goes bust.

But what if they're not, what if they abandon me?

Do I continue to loan my listening ear, lend my shoulder, give my sympathy?