I never said my words were beautiful.


5. numb

"Can you call her?
I'm tired and I think my fingers are numb.
You know what, don't bother.
I'm really over it, I'm done."

My best friend likes Kacey James.
And I like Netflix and grunge music.
My best friend likes children's card games.
And I like heavy rain, and listening to it.

And when he caught me crying, he said his heart broke.
I told him to do that thing where he laughs at his own joke.
And when he disappears in a crowd of familiar teenage faces.
I scream, "Where are you, man?" and he says, "Vacation."

And when I dare to make a joke, he usually grins or shakes his head.
But that's when you know you have a good friend.
That's when you know you have somewhere to go.
That's when you know he won't let you be alone.

Maybe I branched out too far on the entire trust fall.
When someone helps me breathe, I give them my all.
But there's evil in anyone, I'll tell you firsthand.
Because there's evil now apparent in my best friend.

I strummed my guitar all afternoon.
Stayed locked up, depressed, in my bedroom.
Wrote pathetic poetry, drew a woman's face.
Then tried to explain water's taste.

Broke my glasses, questioned my faith.
Hugged onto a photograph, trying to feel safe.
Hid from him at school, hid from assault.
Because being sexually assaulted is apparently my fault.

Cried to Adam's Song about three times.
Read about Ernest Hemingway's life.
Lost my phone, found it in my hand.
Made up names for whenever I started a band.

Weeks of hiding in bathrooms, skipping lunch.
Afraid he'd come to manipulate and give a forced touch.
He called me a tranny to his new best friend.
But he swore it'd never happen again.

Stressed out laughing, ignoring texts.
Saying, "Nah man, I fell asleep studying for our Biology test."
Nowhere to turn, he knows something's up.
Just to get my attention, he'd steal my stuff.

My other friends say they'll do something, but they never do.
And God knows I don't have the will to fight, only move.
I finally get over the sadness, more angry now.
For one day he crosses the line, and he doesn't know how.

So we stop communicating, and I no longer had friends.
I just had my poetry and music, if that makes any sense.
I wonder what'll happen, I wonder what'll be.
Without an apology..does he even feel guilty?

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