mary tells me winston is a jerk.

i almost believe her,
until i see his sad ocean-blue eyes.
he has a reason to be a jerk,
i say to myself. he is just
lonely.

lonely people are sad, and this makes them angry.
it makes them want to
get revenge.
oh,
perhaps that is exactly what he is doing.
getting revenge from his
drunkenly
father or
sadistic
mother.
he probably has that problem.

so winston has a reason to be a jerk.

but mary doesn't understand explanations
she prefers to stay suspicious
if i were a god i would banish her from civilization
because she is
just
so
insular.

her hair is a autumn brown
and last time we checked
she hasn't
combed it since '97
but it looks good that way.
mary is electrifying,
if any.

and you can quote me on that.

i've known her since the sixth grade
and when she discovered i liked elton john too she smiled
and we began an outlandish friendship
she tells me at lunch one day
she
isn't
going
to eat
with me
anymore.
her hair is statically impaired,
as she canters away
and with a within ten seconds my only friend is gone.

we is acting weird because us don't have mary anymore.
me is we because i pretend i am more than just one person.
but i don't tell anyone that.
not even mary.
because it is too illogical to grasp;
too much frenzy will happen in the mind.

*****

anxious and desperately i bend my rules
to talk to winston
it's the first thing we've ever said
my friend thinks you're a jerk
but i think you have a story,
we tell him.

people underestimate truth.
they don't figure it's the
right thing
to do.
they decide with all of their
hollow hearts
that lies will conquer.

meanwhile,
he is frozen
and us know he'll never share his secrets
but we won't either
so it's a perfect trade.

he knows what us saying,
knows what i mean.
and instantly i feel his heartbeat revive mine.

we were waiting for each other,
as if always just around the corner
it's not quite a perfect match
and not so opposite
but rather really in-between.

winston shares the same dictionary as me
and loves satirical phrases.
he doesn't judge me for my black.
he judges me for my
lack
of
depth
i'll croon at him and try to prove i have
a soul, but every time i reach for it
he
pushes
it
back
inside.

it's our game, the never-ending
continuing search for my soul.
for my abilities.
for my thoughts.
for my love.
but i can't tell him much
until he does.

and that's what is impractical about
us.
he became the "we" i used to be.
i always knew i had
a reason for it.
and i still won't tell him.

i realize now,
with mary gone,
nothing ever changed
except for spunk and attitude
now that she's out we are free!
free as birds
flying high with their attached wings.
i wonder what it's like for a bird to
fly for the first time.

buoyant.

it must be what it feels like when i
try heroin for the first time.

weightless.
it's like space, except much more
wondrously
brilliant

all my parents
ever
talk about is
money.

all winston and i
ever
talk about is
death.