Point Of View

I hold your hand, I need to know. This is for you not me.
Blank stares and awkward silence is all I get in return for all the times I’ve spent worrying about you.
I can help, I can be there.
But I have to know.
Yet you persist to pull your sleeve down.
I’ve known you for ages and this is the little glance I get before you feel me eyes on you?
How could this have gone so unseen? Best friends? I guess not.
“What’s wrong?” “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
But it matters to me.
Those tiny scars I know, are there, haunt me and my former friend.
Please don’t let this come between us!
You may think it’s all you got, but you got me!







She grabs my hand, I don’t pull away.
I don’t know how to ask her for help.
So the silence falls hard between us. She is waiting for an unanswered question, a question yet to be asked.
I see the worry behind her eyes, but she can’t help me.
She won’t always be there for me. So I won’t tell her.
I just pull my sleeve down and pretend nothing is wrong.
But I feel her eyes on me and wonder “Has she seen?” The tiny scars that own my wrist now haunt me.
They seem to be pulling me away from my best friend, controlling me.
Will she still be there when I’m ready for her help?





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