The painting on the wall

Hung up on the wall,
To be seen by them all.
Into my room comes adults,
Here to find results.
Some come to cry, and some come to laugh.
Others tend to pry while others pass.
There are those who don’t show and those who don’t care.
While my true friends are those who share.
People leave and people come.
But for the ones I care it’s that small some.
Those who come to seek help.
They may start to yelp.
They struggle and fight,
All of this in my sight.
As much as it frightens me to see them leave.
There is one thing that I believe.
There will be more new stories to hear.
I’ll be here to watch them be steered.