old friends

I’d always envied her
not knowing the heartache
the swirling sadness
beneath her perfect caricature
she chose to wear
since most people
only saw in two dimensions

she conquered that town
when others had forgotten
there was a battle
small minds versus lofty goals

I’d envied her style
her utter coolness
quietly full of life
and alluringly tough
she was always highly sought after
never an empty dance card
all the calendar squares full

she had hundreds of pressed flowers
from heartsick boys
but no one could find
the rights words to win her

I’d envied her smile
that emblazoned her face
brightening the darkest of days
and even more her sharp tongue
that scoffed at idiots and savants
not allowing anyone to drain her
of her wit or will to thrive

she saw her mirror image
in me
I provided a dark backdrop
for her to shine

I’d always envied her
but she wanted freedom
which I have in the background
and we’ve been happy
to bare our barbed wit
and roll in laughter at small minds
and secretly treasure pressed flowers

rummaging

finally, I could write a little something
it’s starting to be like that cigarette
or that drink after dinner
or that late morning break at work
feels like the release I need
when I let the words out
of me
spilling over
sometimes pretty
like waves of lavender
or an impressionist portrait
sometimes horrid
like a haunted house
or a cubist tortured animal rendering
either way
I need it now
the relief tremendous
the writing
the words
rummaging through files
in my brain

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