Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

If you were ever my friend…

You shouldn’t feel honored, but you should know just how important that one word is.

You see “friend” is a term that reminds me of self-decomposition.

Friendship for so long was the same as control and manipulation and

“if you don’t conform you are worthless”

“Friend” has been that rolling duffel bag version of baggage that I construct and reconstruct almost as much as I do the term family.

I learned that I can choose my family and cut off the toxic bits that were poisoning me and contributing to my timely demise.

I learned friend was a choice, something precious that not everyone gets to hold, no matter how much they demand it.

“Friend,” I say it again “Friend”.

I have deemed you worthy.

I do not consider you a person to wear one of my countless faces around.

No pretty painted mask.

If I consider you my friend, and that is the distinction.

You witness my dark, my grim as I dance around in a pretty white lace dress and canvas shoes, the epitome of decay covered innocence, with my afro puffs standing tall against the users and abusers, bubbles in hand.

Bubble kisses so sweet cause I took down a brick so we pass notes back and forth.

I called you my friend and meant it.




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