Honestly, the whole reason for making this book was because I wrote this, tonight, and just needed to get it out in the world; hopefully it'll help feel like I'm releasing some emotion.
The scariest part is the possibility of losing my best friend.
Because that's what you are.
Before you rolled that rose blunt,
And took me on a walk through the woods.
When you came back, at 4 a.m.
and needed a friend.
I was there, and I held you,
and long after you fell asleep my eyes felt heavy.
It was a miracle. With my arm around you,
your head resting on my chest,
my eyes felt heavy.
Me, who takes the highest dose of a sedative
just to get a good nights sleep.
And even when my shit hit the fan
and I had to move back home,
you'd call me. And I'd whisper through the phone,
because I have no door at my mom's house,
And we'd argue every time:
Who loved who more.
When you rolled that rose blunt,
And we laughed about out friends-to-lovers arch,
I smiled in a way I hadn't before.
Not because I need you to be happy,
And not because love is elicits the only genuine smile
I am capable of giving.
(Which it might, but that's aside from you).
At that moment, everything felt clear.
The Ouija board, months ago,
Who said your soulmate was a similar Boghetto victim.
A good friend, in your dorm.
You'd get together at 19. They couldn't tell you who.
You knew. I knew. We all knew.
But what happens now? When we're twenty-one,
And our daily arguments are no longer those stupid, silly ones.
Like when I'd accidentally take your shirt home
Our when you said you loved me more.
Over two years ago, you rolled that rose blunt.
Almost two years ago,
We lay intertwined on your mattress.
My chin angled towards yours.
Your eyes studying my face.
We inched closer together,
Those silly nervous little lesbians,
Friends-to-lovers, too scared to make the first move.
What if we lost the other?
We didn't at that moment.
But, I'm not so sure anymore.
My stupid psychoanalyst therapist wears a mask almost all the time.
It's almost a victory when I get them to raise their eyebrows:
It's so silly, how validating such a small gesture can be.
When I told her what you said,
Her head reared back.
In an instant, her brows blended with her baby hairs.
I don't want to lose you.
You're my best friend.
And, at the same time,
With that stupid dialectic DBT taught me,
I deserve a partner who wants to call me.
Who doesn't limit our contact to texts
And weekends, when I drive three hours to see you.
I want you to be that person so badly.
I don't want to lose my best friend.
YOU ARE READING
In Honor of Pretty Girls
Non-FictionMy professor once told me: no one wants to read about lesbians. But we still hold onto the fragments of one of the most famous poets, Sappho, who said: "I declare That later on, Even in an age unlike our own, Someone will remember who we are" I'l...
