Best Friend.

You yelled at me.

I was wearing a dry cloak of humour
made from ideations,
as I sat there,
assaulted, by you, my best friend.

Angry at me.

Publications, College acceptations.
Things you had worked hard for,
that had just fallen into my lap.

Perhaps it was your jealousy, or the realisation,
that having me as a friend was not such a good friend to have at all, that finally sent you off the edge.

Falling with water piling into pools in your palms.
I didn't mean to upset you.
You struggle too, I know that.
But I need to feel free.

please,
tell me what I can do?

Tell me what I can do?

Tell me what I can do.

Don't get angry.

Illusions they keep most of us going,
day after day,
year after year,
job after job.

I'm sorry I attacked yours, an absence of a deity,
leaving you grasping
onto just the possibility of meaning
any at all.

I didn't know

I didn't realise it meant so much to you.
To who you define yourself to be.

You asked me to change myself, before I moved to your college,
because I was too confronting in my beliefs on death and other topics.
(even though those words had only ever passed between our lips).
I would have to change you said,
or people who knew me,
may not know anyone at all.

Well, if that's the case.
If I have to change.
Because you believe no one could ever truly accept me.
As I am.
I'd rather not be here at all.

It's a convoluted joke isn't it?

Scattered over our lives with a delicate Orwellian touch.

Every day I feel it.

Every, single, day.

I really do.

But, let's be honest for a minute.
Leave bliss and ignorance at the door.

We all get cold with time.
We all get cold with time.
We all get cold with time.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: Often the way I want to experience the world (like a song where the ending is not the end goal nor, in a good song, does when it ends detract from it in any way) is often at odds with society. I fight a lot with my parents, I have some very close friends but still the issues sometimes arise as did with my best friend tonight. He was worried that if other people knew he knew me and they found out I had these views (within uni) he would be ostracised from his new friends. My beliefs and racist or hateful, they boil down to the fact that I believe we shouldn't be afraid of death, that if people want to commit suicide or do drugs it's their own right, that life is absurd and beautiful and you should just hang on for the ride both the ups and downs. Sadness can be just as beautiful as joy. For my best friend his perception of life is far more serious than that. He left crying and yelling after joking one too many times I guess while I just said I was sorry. But I refuse to change for anyone else. I'm weird and fucked up but that's who I am. It enables me to be creative. I won't pretend. My friends love me for who I am, and I plan on keeping it that way. Had to write a poem to get a pretty messed couple of weeks out of my head on onto the page. R, I'm sorry, you were a close friend, but it's the eccentricities that make me who I am and allow me to do what I do. A seemingly haggled, mentally unstable, poet and philosopher. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Australia, AUS

Favorite Poets: Plath (I know

Comments

Interesting

"Life isn't about waiting
for the storm to pass
It's about learning how
To dance in the rain"
Vivian Greene

Good piece, but it seemed like a letter to your friend and family
I think your theme is good, just to many filler words for a poem.
Eddie C.

Narrative prose poetry is perfectly fitting...

with your experience, and whatever you're going through. We all do it, or at least should do it more. As Stephen Fry says very eloquently:
"I believe poetry is a primary impulse within us all" - and the beauty of a prose poem like this is that you can keep coming back to it again and again,revising, distilling and meditating on that experience. I like this, it's honest, it's raw and that's fine. Sure, it my be a bit word weighty here and there, but that's what revisions are for. You drew me in with:
"I was wearing a dry cloak of humour" - which from the outset is what all good poets try to do, draw the reader in..
Keep up the good work.

Take care,

Chris.