A Few Questions

I just have a few questions.

Is there room for my sadness, sorrow, and depression?

Are you sick of hearing about the deaths of my grandparents, my dog Sawyer, or any other painful losses I’m still struggling to overcome?

Can you hear me out without trying to correct me, change my mind, alter my emotional state, or “fix” me?

Or learn that I’m feeling miserable without making jokes about it?

If I express anger after a long time of holding it in, will you abandon me?

Can I get some attention when I need some support, or will you talk only about yourself and everyone else except me?

Why do you always take center stage in every conversation while I’m relegated to being your audience?

Are you so uninterested in what I have to say that you’ll trample over my sentences instead of hearing me out?

Am I only a garbage can into which you can vomit all your opinions, gossip, and annoyances?

Am I enough for you?