Pencils and Gel Pens
In high school, I collected
friends
like pencils. Grey pencil mark
relationships with stiff erasers
that only smudged away mistakes.
The girl with hair imitating
an angelic blonde sheen,
her voice shrouded in disdain
when she asked, “What
can you do with that?”
when I revealed my thirst
for creative writing.
Most stayed tucked into a purple
sliding plastic case, protected
from the crushing weight
of text books and life-mistakes.
The brunette who I only spoke
to as we popped film open
with can openers in opaque
blackness and laced developed
strips of negatives under the fragile
lens of a cumbersome enlarger.
In college, I’ve collected
friends
like gel pens. Red, blue, green
and pink escapades glide over
the lines of my blank paper.
Driving 56 miles, past derelict
construction by myself
to Daytona to convene with
a friend who wants to show
me how small her school is.
Spending hours on video chat
once a week with an Anime
and My Little Pony loving
friend and harmonizing
to Ed Sheeran even though
she doesn’t believe in God
and I do.
If you liked this poem you'll also enjoy:
Fibrous Shells - thoughts on memory.
The Exuberance He Gives - joy.
If you liked this poem you'll also enjoy:
Fibrous Shells - thoughts on memory.
The Exuberance He Gives - joy.