"aquantence" poems
We used to be close you and I. Always laughing, playing, bonding. Then one day it all changed, you weren't there anymore.
My importance to you faded like a tattoo, slowly becoming insignificant in your life. I was just another tool to help you get what you wanted.
One second I was your world, the next I was a burden.
Years passed where we grew apart, you were no longer my father. You weren't even a friend. I can't find a word to describe what you are to me anymore: boss, coworker, aquantence?
No matter, your real son will always make you proud.
I am and always will be just a burden to my father.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
Everyday we meet knew people and we make ties.
It's hard to make friends.
And when we do its like a fine thread.
You just don't know when its going to break.
So you fight, fight to keep them satisfied.
But what is friendship.
It's a step down from love and a step up from aquantence.
It's hard to tell who's a real friend and who just wants to use you.
Try hard not to be used.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Or am I socrates? do I play socrates with myself? is socrates a genuine soul or a total son of a bitch? would I win an argument, I am fascinated to make his aquantence over beer, where he may stare into space for awhile before asking a question, and that question is a question, and I pause, with nothing to say back, would we just go on like this? asking arbitrary questions until one of us got drunk enough to leave? I wonder
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC