the first words you said to your best friend were
that jacket is absolutely killer.
an all-purpose conversation starter
ever-ready to fall from your lips -
you were not looking for a friend;
saw yourself, instead,
as doing a good deed -
offering a girl from out of town
a helping hand in your own.
but things change,
don’t they?
nothing is as you thought it would be
(you don’t like that. it has always been
as you thought it would be.)
you were not looking for a friend,
but a friend she became,
and she incensed you as she did everyone else,
hooked you in with dark hair and dimples
and for once,
you are dependent.
dependent.
(it feels horrible.)
too easy -
it came too easy.
fingers sharpen to claws and your friend -
your friend is still here,
but farther away than before.
her smiles are heavy -
few and far between.
it terrifies you.
tell me,
you want to murmur into the shell of her ear,
burden me with your secrets,
and i shall carry them with you.
you do not say
these words.
you think that even if you did,
she would find a way to keep herself from hearing them,
tell herself that she is protecting you
when all it does
is hurt.
you have always had something of a whirlwind romance with knowledge -
you will do anything for it
for you mistake it for wisdom too
often,
and who wishes to be deprived
of wisdom?
a year later,
and you do.
ignorance is bliss and blindness is glory,
you wish you had both -
but you do not.
YOU ARE READING
of blind heroines and foolish heroes
Poetry“i give a fuck. i give a lot of fucks, actually. i'm a prostitute of feelings.”