In a land
where I am the sovereign of all things social
where a silky dialogue will sift smoothly from my lips
where the serrated sickle of self-esteem never breaks me at my knees
In a land
where socialization does not suffocate my tongue like a foreign language
where every thought didn't have to lumber through the Alaskan pipeline to become a word
where syllables are not steps; carrying me closer to the edge of a cliff

Maybe there
I could write you a poem about friendship
maybe there
I could lay down verses like brick walls
piece by piece I would seal together a solid sonnet

I could write a poem about all the moments so fondly remembered
about all the friendships
about all the little fissures in perfections
that made us so profoundly human
the occasional snort
the laughter
the tears
that time when I fell and broke my arm in the Burger King parking lot
I would write about all the moments
cemented in a friendship

But, today
In this land
Where I am neither an outgoing prince nor a beloved jester
I am, and shall remain
The stuttering, sweating, and uncomfortable
human
So dreadfully incapable of writing
about friendship