open letter to friends lost, in three parts



i’ve known you 15 years.
along the way
we lost all communication skill
and by we i mean you.
when youth was raped
away by ma’s perverse
i understood
why you didn’t tell me—
we were barely taller
than countertops
and what did we know
about sex anyway?

senior year you whispered
me your pain—
why you broke away,
stopped returning my calls
for two years—
the time in which you told
ma, received numerous paper cuts,
and police visits.

but, why you felt inclined
to cut me off is a mystery.
seeing you walk the halls
with new friends
and boyfriends hurt—
my heart—even more confused
at you still sending gifts—
christmases and birthdays—
i’d have rather had your words.

you left me
and now though sporadic
text messages
you tell me that you miss me,
while still ignoring mine.
you tell me you’ve been busy—
busy all the time.



i’ve known you two years.
a months ago you hurt me
it may not be big to you
but it is.
i told its enormous weight—
you didn’t respond.
i should have known all
along you didn’t care for
me like i you—

i told you you’d replace me—
you told me stop saying
those things,
nonsense and lies—but more like
self-fulfilling prophesy.

i let you see the secret parts
you said we had an ‘intimate’ friendship.
now i wonder if i said too much.
i guess this tug-of-war rope
wrapped around my heart
is why i’m not
to put my trust in man—
or woman—
in short, your communication
sucks balls too,
‘cause you had more
important things
to do.



i knew her five years.
was the best
listener, story-teller, and
definition of human

she loved me first—
always responded—
mutual affection
in stupid conversation over
computer screens and
qwerty keyboards
and wild rides through dirt roads—
she was always down
for an adventure—
concerts full of screaming
old ladies
or a walk around the lake
when the evening was
lighted red and
the crickets hadn’t come
she hated not being
able to talk
to me.

once, two days passed
without a word.
finally she touched
base, said she was
for what she did
to her wrists—
but she wasn’t crazy
society and living were—
she made a full recovery though.

just when she’d reached
her best
it was over.
faulty tires
a few flips
no funeral
just ashes.


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