The speaker is offering kindness, but with a condition: they want a promise in return. They ask the other person to be there the way they are, a back to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, an ear that will listen to pain. These are simple, human requests, and the repetition of "promise that just like mine" makes them sound like a vow being slowly built.
Then the tone shifts. The speaker admits their kindness has been "abused," "taken for granted," and "used." The three short lines pile up like a list of old hurts, and they explain why the promise matters so much. This person has given too much before and received too little.
The mood is guarded but hopeful. There's weariness and a little vulnerability in it, yet the speaker still chooses to offer kindness again. The poem ends on a quiet plea, "please promise the same," and the closing signature, "- kindness," makes the speaker almost seem to become the thing they are offering.