|Friends Like These
Author: awriterscorned PM
I had some really almost comically dysfunctional friends in high school. This is a poem about the strange people we attract when we're dealing with trauma. Written last year.Rated: Fiction M - English - Words: 411 - Published: 10-24-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2734401
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Friends Like These
The greasy boy is sad because
The bus driver stole his tea cup and he needed that tea cup,
Isis stopped returning his calls and
No phone sex girl will marry him.
I never mean to talk to him, but sometimes he's my only option.
I just wanted to be nice
Like I always am, even pinned to her sheets, fists curled around them
To avoid touching her skin that turns my body's every flush
To spiritual treason.
I talk to greasy teacup losing phone-sex addicts
To avoid something worse you see…
He says she lives in my mind so I'll never be alone.
And he's right, for once, to say I'm never alone.
I'm sullen these days, I miss everyone that knows her
Or remembers who I was when she was there
Not that I miss that person, being that person.
I could live a long life without her, though my dreams say otherwise.
My dreams are always haunting me with repeating high school and
Choir dress rehearsals where she
Slips a note into my hand, promising a call she'll never make
Because she knows I'd wait by the phone for hours
And never answer, or even know if it was her.
My dreams remind me that I'm old and stale.
My soul is a whore, but my mind is a virgin.
I can't speak for my body anymore.
I wounded it myself to prove to me I could
With a barber striped candy vibe, too big for a finger-raped lesbian,
Two hours before my aunt's wedding
I did it just to do it and I pushed until my body cramped with pain
And it hurt to sit or stand or walk for longer than a week.
The tip was like a pinprick to my center on its highest mode
And I would hold it to my pearl and scream blended obscenities
I could not think enough to scream beneath my breath
I never came but blessed the pretty pain
Until it leaked copper liquid and buzzed without command
Muffled in a towel I bid farewell the leaking mower
That took what she took only in spirit.
I am sad because
A rapist stole my purity and I needed that purity,
The gods ignored my pleas and
My deflowerer won't love me
Even as a sourly bitter "sorry I killed your soul"