Weakness

Why is it when I am alone, I find that I am weak?
Why is it when friends surround me, I am strong?
Why do people say that I am brave, when they can find nothing else to say?
Why can’t they see that inside I cry?
Why can’t I find a reason to move ahead, to forget the past in all its dread?
Why can’t I be happy when I know she said for me to be?
Why can I not cry anymore, even when I want to?
Why oh why can’t I do anything right?
Why do I find that my weakness is my solitude?

I find that loneliness is my weakness.
I found that my friends make me strong.
People say I’m brave because they see it to be true.
I see that crying on the inside does nothing.
I look and forge a new path, even though I someday will return back to the old one.
I know that I can be happy at some point, even if it’s not evident now.
I will cry at a suitable point, and she told me not to cry.
I make myself do things right, even if I get agitated.
I do know that my weakness will always and forever more remain my solitude.