in my life,
ive called three girls my best friend.
one i haven’t seen since i was five,
one i wish i saw more,
one i wish i never saw again.

the first half my hand on a playground,
the second held my hand while i cried.
the third was the reason for my tears.

and now there’s a fourth.
i don’t love many people like a sister,
but she’s one of them.

i would tell her all my secrets,
cut myself raw so she can see the real me.
shes so honest,
the kind of friend ive only read about.

but im not the only one she’s a great friend to.
im selfish, i know.
i wish she wasn’t such a good person,
that she didn't give out kindness like it's endless
that i could have her to myself.

but i cant.
because she’s my best friend,
but i'm not hers.

i don’t just crave validation,
i need it.
i need it like some people need a drink in their hands,
i need it like it’s the cigarette between my lips.

it’s the air in my lungs,
my food and my drink.
it’s not just music to my ears—
it’s the only sound i hear.

i know i’m not your favorite,
not really.
but you told me i was,
three months ago.
and i wrote that in my journal.
i etched that in my heart.

i hold up my poems,
these nonsense words i call art,
and i need a compliment,
i need a hug.
so that i know i’m not just some girl,
the girl you whisper about when she’s not there.
so that i know
there’s a reason i give and give.

so that i know i’m someone’s favorite.