My friend, I write as my thoughts grow weary
They need unburdening after our last parting
Words unpleasant but needs to be said
And No. They are not platitudinous cliches.
You read my verse and think "drama queen"
that is because you never bothered to try
to figure what they or what I really mean;
instead you see my work as mere interests
(of that you are definitely not the first).
You miss out key underpinnings,
in your sophomoric misunderstanding
(relegating differences to superficial trappings).
You can't even see the wood for the trees,
mistaking symptom for dis-ease.
So you belittle, disparage what is important to me
You know everything, or so you think
but your insights scarcely scratch surface skin:
what you don't like you call "pretension",
what you don't get, "passive aggression".
You substitute knowing for psychobabble
everything fits some convenient (mis)label.
You revel in your smug simplicity
No. you never once understood me.
How can you when you never tried
But I let it go, I let it slide.
You attribute falsehood to my reticence
when you can't take my different opinion
(something I have learnt from experience).
How can you expect someone else to share
when you've never asked or bothered or cared?
(And when I try to open you up in turn, to learn,
you yourself clam up in return.)
Your wit is tired, your little barbs sting
they reveal how little of me you think.
One can't help but feel as just a longer fling;
its a damn good thing I can hold my drink.
(Be honest, I was just another useful thing,
peripheral part of some prepackaged scheme.)
And so my friend I must confess
everyday I learned to love you less.
I am not good, I am not nice,
I particularly hate giving advice;
unlike you I don't justify after the fact,
I preplan, circumvent, attack
(but I've never went behind your back).
Not once did you even share some blame
for past disappointments and old flames;
yet you called me a martyr nonetheless
when you are one of the very best.
Your actions never match your self-description
(of that, at least you are consistent).
You claim to want to change and grow but
you seem too comfortable in your little rut.
The next time I beg you to desist,
to mold or fit someone to some preplanned list.
Give them and yourself a chance to be
a lesson I just learnt, (such irony)
For I'd loved you despite of me.
I am sorry I chose not to stay
(which I sometimes regret to this day)
But I know myself, I cannot be
with one who can't believe in me.
Nor can I respect and expend attention
to one whose basis is convention
(who trumpets cheap psychology).
My friend it is time to change your ways
but I fear you have by now set this away.
(Knowing you, you will probably pay no heed
and pass the buck to my 'misdeeds'.)
But I hope when you find that someone,
somewhere, some night
You now know how to treat them right.
My friend, I am sadness and disease
impotent with this heavy world
of indifferent injustice.
Yet somehow with you it seemed less important
and for a while I was briefly happy.
And for that I felt I owed you,
a better chance at finding happiness.
To Marcus M.