PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To paint you a picture of it all would take miles of canvas.

The gasping of a last stroke;

The parallelism of our walking feet;

The beauty of my brown wood home;

And my first best friend.

I must admit, I will miss

my first best friend.



The smoke was thick in highschool.

So was her skin, the way it calmed me to touch it,

before the beginning of the beginning,

before the ending of the end.

The soil was shady and the the sky off-blue.

The knowledge was poison and so was the food.

But still,

we grew.

Stunted and beautiful, we grew.

It was the calling of the midnight moon.

It was the swinging of our matching shoes.

It was the awkwardness of first youth.

It was my best friend.

I must admit, I will miss

my first best friend.



It was death.

Nights of heart-aching numbness,

whispering to the pillow, "please sleep, please sleep"

the tears that sprung like a winter spring,

flowing underneath all the sunshine, coined by the callow, "rum".

It was blood and guts and the taste of cum.

It was hard to go through.

Still,

we grew.

Stunted and beautiful, we grew.

All the while I thought too often of what I would do

when the growing was over.



I learned the only lesson- cognitive dissonace.

As I tear apart my roots,

I say, "I will keep them", and then "I will throw them away".

Simultaneously my heart is filled with sweetest love and deepest hate.

It was how fully we believed in the dreams we made.

And when we understood they would never come true,

it was the noise of heart break.

Still,

we grew.

And all will be forgiven someday,

the day we forget each other,

the shape of her shadow, my one crooked tooth.

It was the promises we are making still.

It was the understanding we could lie until.

It was the inevitability of a better thrill.

It was the dreams that never came to be fulfilled.

It was my best friend.

So yes, I admit, I will miss

my first best friend.