I will never forget the day my mom realized:
I really do have friends!
She crooned questions into my ears
And blossomed like a rose with thorns when I asked
to spend time with them.

Sprinting through the unexcited
School questions she would tease,
“How are those nice kids your hanging with?”
No longer was there any fragment of any doubt that I
had friends…
I had friends.
I wasn’t moseying along the packed school hallways
Empty anymore.

The questions would roll from her tongue
Like bitter nectar,

“What do you do?”

“What is that fellow’s name?”

And my father went along with
the blind gloom of my mother’s relentless interrogation.
My “good enough” demeanor
Suffocated our home with unjust relief.
And filled the air with elephants,
not wanting to be addressed.

Time spent went vertigo,
and whipped the truth from my face,
like cheap paint.
I was a dollar store buyer,
and I was cheating myself of who I was.
My mind just full enough to
fill the chasm of acceptance.
I laughed, yes I did laugh.
And those laughs were as real
as they got.
The laughs had tricked me
cause they were laughs I hadn’t felt,

And the pain in my stomach felt good.
The pulling in my heart felt good.
The secrets on my lips felt good.
The smell on my clothes felt so good.

I enjoyed my time,
and I hated this.
It was an addiction to
a substance,
that was not credible.
There was no name for this drug.
None but
self gained,
antagonism.