How do we clash
so harsh
and yet sparse
but it lasts
anger blush
as we laugh

flawed interpretations
unintentional messes
obliterates my mind
& the heart, it oppresses
decisions are risky
social constructs are fragile
interactions give anxiety
for some aren't as agile
confidence is a faulty machine
you never know when it'll collapse-
doubt is a burden to the soul
when the world is full of traps.

To stay out of trouble
is to live in your bubble
'Don't mingle'- not subtle
when you end in the rubble.
Became a social butterfly
only to hear the distant battle-cry
as arrows struck you from up high
& you began think, 'I'd rather die'
than carry the weight- 'misunderstood'
from societal challenges- understood-
risk your peace - do you think you would?
to become a figure - appearing 'good'.

The two ol' pals are facing each other.

He passes a glass of poison
to his dear guest, leaning
near the front door, slightly opened;
and he's learning the reason—

why he's standing there,
about to storm out of the stone-cold apartment—
'bout to burst in tears
shedding the vivid droplets

that shouldn't be belonging to a mere ghost.
Yet he's fleeting, escaping the scene still,
while the owner of the kitchenette
is putting back the bottle

    to where it belonged;
    and he's gone, present no longer.

The drink on the rock—left on the shelf—
is evaporating, following the vaporized guest,
leaving the scent of faint alcohol
that lulls the other friend to regretful sleep.

I wish I could be the right thing

For the right person

But I'm the wrong thing for everyone

And everyone's wrong for me

Conditional, conventional, this heart,
And the tough thin cloak I wear.
I give it to the few friends I make,
With room and love, always, to spare.

I met you in the valley, but the evidence was there,
Your eyes hid the fear and weariness,
Deep within the fire of a stare.
Or retreated, free from scrutiny,
To hide behind the fall of your hair.

The secrets, however, weren't easy to guess,
And for your good, I would do my part.
So I know that your void is filled with less,
Than fits your past or your darkest art.
I've seen your anger, wrath, and need:
It was protecting a kind and generous heart.

Your friendship was a gift, you trusted in me,
I trusted in you, which was better, I felt,
Than calling out the humanity  I see,
Within the rotten hand you were dealt.

I hope that I brought to you something of use,
Listening was the only thing that I knew how to give.
If I brought you harm, or cause for alarm,
Then the shame would stay with me
                                    for as long as I live.

They say that friendship is a place we go,
When two, or more, are there, it is real.
I'm confused but trying to understand,
And I'm more than confident,
                     that you know how that feels.