Who and At - 04/03/11

He says something about words
And the number of them
With the sad music
Purposefully linger in the background
Just loud enough
For its tone
To suck little rays of my soul
Into its dark density
With general relativity equations
And visions of my body
Crushed
Mangled
And thrown away
All floating through my mind
On the same level
As his words about words
And the number of them
In a certain time.

Frequency.
In the past ten minutes,
It has apparently been four.
I don’t bother to check,
I know that aggression
Drives me to make perfectly calculated points,
As well.

It’s not that I’m trying not to talk to him,
Just that I’m trying not to say certain things,
That can never just be said,
Because of the questions,
And the demands to
“Continue.”
It can’t just be let out
In little bursts.
No, everything must be contained
Until I
“Need to vent?”

There is no one to whom I can say:
“I feel like dying,”
And just have that be how I’m feeling,
As common place as
“Fine” or “Okay” or “Well.”
I have no one who will let me say:
“All my current thoughts involve
My death
And a lot of blood”
And just have that be it,
No questions,
No worries,
No weird looks,
Just acceptance.

It’s true enough, though,
That I couldn’t do that for anyone else.
If someone so slightly puts themselves down,
Even a complete stranger,
I have to help,
Be encouraging,
Try to make them feel better.

But is it not acceptance
That makes us feel the best?
Understanding and love,
Just the way we are,
Happy or not,
Fine or not,
Okay, or not?



I realized today,
That the best friend I’ve ever had,
Is the one who has only recently
Been called “my best friend!”
Where were you all my sad life?
Where were you to make fun of me
When I asked the hairdresser
For side-bangs
That I could hide behind?
Where were you to speak softly
As I sat alone at lunch,
Too scared to make new friends?
For the acceptance you have given me,
Even just so recently,
Thank you,
My best friend.