Best Friends my ass.

You don't know me.
It sounds so cliche, doesn't it?
But it's true.
If I asked you what my favorite color is I bet you'd still say blue
And you'd be all smug thinking you're right
But no.
My favorite color is red.
Like the passion flowing through my fingers as I write this poem
Like my voice as I recite the works of others when I need only to recite my own
like my soul burns bright as my paintbrush glides the canvas
and I feel as if I'm painting my very being out for the world to see.
Blue is the color of a child.
Red is the color of me.

I bet if you actually took the time to know me you'd remember I'm the same girl you spent every Sunday with as a kid.
And when you cancelled our plans to meet up at the coffee shop and work things out
I wondered
Are you lying?
Did you really have to be with your family
or were you just not willing to admit that you had a part
in this friendship ending.

But I guess we always knew deep within us that
I was the summer
and you were the winter.
And you never took your coat off.
Even when the seasons changed
you wouldn't dare let anyone see what lies beneath
You could never see that what lay beneath the coat was much more radiant that she appeared to be
That without it she was a smart, wonderful, caring girl
who cared too much about what people think.
Over the years you got colder and had to add more and more coats until no one could see your face

But I knew who was under there.
I had become a life long sister to the person under all those layers
Once I couldn't see you, I stopped believing in you.
I stopped thinking we would be each other's maids of honor, and that our daughters would be best friends
I stopped thinking that we would last until the end.

I hope one day you'll start peeling back those layers and let people see you for who you truly are
I hope you shed your plastic flowers for real ones
I hope you realize that I still care

And when your coats are finally off
I hope you come visit me in summer.