To Dear you who is not my friend
to dear you who is ... not my friend
Sometimes I have forgotten—that you’re not my friend.
but you’ve never been down on your knees, begging for forgiveness,
begging for mercy
No, you were so perfect you hurt me.
I knew, even before it all,
we were never going to be real friends.
I saw you as an ideal, an inspiration, a sky,
a model in mono that I couldn’t mortalize,
and your friends, your perfect Court—sharp prince, bright jester, white knight—was no transient
lie.
when the monsters in this world had railed against our beliefs
my very ground turned shaky,
but you stood there and dared “make me”
you left me terrified, left me enticed--
I yearned to be in your Court, your envious rapport
wishing brilliance was something that could have been stolen with proximity,
because i know you’ve never been left, slavering to appease.
It’s always me, on my knees
desperate to worship you
desperate to please
I know I became cruel
to you
I did not treat you as I should’ve—I’d do it all right
if we had another chance
—I’d work my whole life
to be worthy of you.
If you’d just forgive me,
let me repent
for all my bitter winter sins.
Because now we’re something like asymptotes,
you and I,
the divide between us permanently solidified.
I see you out of the corner of my eye, walking alone, looking down,
walking with your Court, laughing,
gone, up the stairs--
and I pull back for a half second, still hopelessly trapped in your gravity.
I feel you sometimes, the weight of you behind me, and I am suddenly horribly aware
of who I am talking with, how I’m smiling, the way I must act within the confines of my mind.
We’re spiraling too far apart, sometimes I realize, this isn’t how I wanted this to go
and panic stampedes over me and then I’m confused,
and then I remember and
even when I manage to cross over to you, we aren’t the same!
our gossamer intimacy, our grotesque incompatibility, has been torn,
by my blundering ignorance and all your misplaced surgical cuts;
we smile and talk and rave about Webtoon figures, and I am already a ghost in your life, and I
already know,
sure as the edge of a knife,
sure as our strife,
that we will never talk again after your senior year
(for your whole life.)
I’m sorry, I’d say, now that it’s too late.
I’d close my eyes and cling to these cursed words,
until in my mind they’ve piled
onto
each
other
and built a bridge strong enough for me to cross,
until they’re powerful enough to nail me to the cross,
take away the cost of our loss,
as I beg my God to
fix us.
Let it be known: I am a weak person.
I was too tired to fight your accusations, too tattered to draw arms and defend myself.
What did I even know? I was the fool in every conversation we had.
I caved, craven instead.
I pleaded with platitudes, argued with angles in which we could fix this easily, move on so
quickly we’d lose our memory of it all.
I was shaken, and confused;
we both had our trust abused, though I was ready for it all to be excused--
—but you refused, spun away with cold disdain,
and angry indignation dammed whatever else could have gotten through.
In the end: you had given away the secrets I told in confidence, or you played a messy game with
me as a puppet at your convenience,
But I had let this poison seep into our wells of trust, let it stagnate,
let it stay;
I let uncertainty and shame hold my hand,
choke my voice,
turn me away--
You were angry.
I was scared.
I thought this was a momentary storm; I never knew it’d become the norm.
How was I supposed to apologize for this? You had my every attempt dismissed.
I didn’t even know what you said; you told me nothing of it.
And when nothing had been said and all had been done, this indecision had ruined us.
You’ve had a lifetime’s experience of ignoring unsavories—I’ve seen the enemies you leave
behind, every turn you take.
I just never thought I’d fade to be like all your other shadows, left
in
your
wake.
Even now I can’t judge you so starkly: I know as well as you do, the cracks worked into your
heart, into you.
you fell in love once too, and I watched you and your loner,
summer snapshots of downtown sprees and bike rides,
watched you and your loon, idiots around each other as like called to like
saw you tilt your head and laugh, saw your lover hug and stand on your behalf,
and you gave each other flowers and snuck off to the english wing during lunch hour
and it was all very witty and true,
until your liar left you.
I sit next to your loser in my history class,
and I want them destroyed
I want them to be joyed
I want to ask how you were made a toy
I want to grab and shake them, tell the fool you were happy, your love made you happy,
why
—just ‘why’
i suppose
The world of this word is just wide enough to fit you two,
and is narrow enough for us, too:
The spring I met you, I called you the wrong name. I don’t call you wrong names anymore; it’s
an offense you may no longer suffer, not that I’d know, coward I am. But that spring—I tried out
every combination of names you let slip, teased your reactions bit by bit, held your hand and
spun you around—I would have kissed you just for the hell of it, and we were about as happy as
God would permit.
Sometimes I have forgotten—that you’re not my friend.
but you’ve never been down on your knees, begging for forgiveness,
begging for mercy
No, you were so perfect you hurt me.
I knew, even before it all,
we were never going to be real friends.
I saw you as an ideal, an inspiration, a sky,
a model in mono that I couldn’t mortalize,
and your friends, your perfect Court—sharp prince, bright jester, white knight—was no transient
lie.
when the monsters in this world had railed against our beliefs
my very ground turned shaky,
but you stood there and dared “make me”
you left me terrified, left me enticed--
I yearned to be in your Court, your envious rapport
wishing brilliance was something that could have been stolen with proximity,
because i know you’ve never been left, slavering to appease.
It’s always me, on my knees
desperate to worship you
desperate to please
I know I became cruel
to you
I did not treat you as I should’ve—I’d do it all right
if we had another chance
—I’d work my whole life
to be worthy of you.
If you’d just forgive me,
let me repent
for all my bitter winter sins.
Because now we’re something like asymptotes,
you and I,
the divide between us permanently solidified.
I see you out of the corner of my eye, walking alone, looking down,
walking with your Court, laughing,
gone, up the stairs--
and I pull back for a half second, still hopelessly trapped in your gravity.
I feel you sometimes, the weight of you behind me, and I am suddenly horribly aware
of who I am talking with, how I’m smiling, the way I must act within the confines of my mind.
We’re spiraling too far apart, sometimes I realize, this isn’t how I wanted this to go
and panic stampedes over me and then I’m confused,
and then I remember and
even when I manage to cross over to you, we aren’t the same!
our gossamer intimacy, our grotesque incompatibility, has been torn,
by my blundering ignorance and all your misplaced surgical cuts;
we smile and talk and rave about Webtoon figures, and I am already a ghost in your life, and I
already know,
sure as the edge of a knife,
sure as our strife,
that we will never talk again after your senior year
(for your whole life.)
I’m sorry, I’d say, now that it’s too late.
I’d close my eyes and cling to these cursed words,
until in my mind they’ve piled
onto
each
other
and built a bridge strong enough for me to cross,
until they’re powerful enough to nail me to the cross,
take away the cost of our loss,
as I beg my God to
fix us.
Let it be known: I am a weak person.
I was too tired to fight your accusations, too tattered to draw arms and defend myself.
What did I even know? I was the fool in every conversation we had.
I caved, craven instead.
I pleaded with platitudes, argued with angles in which we could fix this easily, move on so
quickly we’d lose our memory of it all.
I was shaken, and confused;
we both had our trust abused, though I was ready for it all to be excused--
—but you refused, spun away with cold disdain,
and angry indignation dammed whatever else could have gotten through.
In the end: you had given away the secrets I told in confidence, or you played a messy game with
me as a puppet at your convenience,
But I had let this poison seep into our wells of trust, let it stagnate,
let it stay;
I let uncertainty and shame hold my hand,
choke my voice,
turn me away--
You were angry.
I was scared.
I thought this was a momentary storm; I never knew it’d become the norm.
How was I supposed to apologize for this? You had my every attempt dismissed.
I didn’t even know what you said; you told me nothing of it.
And when nothing had been said and all had been done, this indecision had ruined us.
You’ve had a lifetime’s experience of ignoring unsavories—I’ve seen the enemies you leave
behind, every turn you take.
I just never thought I’d fade to be like all your other shadows, left
in
your
wake.
Even now I can’t judge you so starkly: I know as well as you do, the cracks worked into your
heart, into you.
you fell in love once too, and I watched you and your loner,
summer snapshots of downtown sprees and bike rides,
watched you and your loon, idiots around each other as like called to like
saw you tilt your head and laugh, saw your lover hug and stand on your behalf,
and you gave each other flowers and snuck off to the english wing during lunch hour
and it was all very witty and true,
until your liar left you.
I sit next to your loser in my history class,
and I want them destroyed
I want them to be joyed
I want to ask how you were made a toy
I want to grab and shake them, tell the fool you were happy, your love made you happy,
why
—just ‘why’
i suppose
The world of this word is just wide enough to fit you two,
and is narrow enough for us, too:
The spring I met you, I called you the wrong name. I don’t call you wrong names anymore; it’s
an offense you may no longer suffer, not that I’d know, coward I am. But that spring—I tried out
every combination of names you let slip, teased your reactions bit by bit, held your hand and
spun you around—I would have kissed you just for the hell of it, and we were about as happy as
God would permit.