Our Kindergarten Friendship

Do you remember our first playdate?

At McDonald’s with a playplace. 

We were in kindergarten.

We were younger then,

but the bond we had

was still the bond we have now.

I used to think that

the reason I felt like you were slipping away

was just because

I was growing up

and you weren’t.

I don’t think that’s right.

You’ve grown up with me, but

our friendship hasn’t.

It’s the perfect friendship

for two kindergarteners.

Light, easy.

We have fun.

When we talk, I always end up smiling.

When we were younger, it felt

right.

But we’re not in kindergarten anymore, and

I think we both need more than this friendship.

Neither of us are brave enough to say it,

so we ignore it. 

Wave goodbye.

We always talk Mondays & Wednesdays,

and it’s so so fun,

and it leaves me glowing,

but we don’t talk about anything real, just

exchange inside jokes and

catch up.

We never even went through that phase

every friendship seems to go through, 

where we talk about who we like.

Now I feel like

I can’t tell you anything real.

And I love talking to you,

but our friendship is still as shallow as it was

that one day at the McDonald’s with a playplace,

when we were simple & sweet & cute

but we’ve grown up

and the friendship isn’t growing up with us.

I probably told you at some point

I never wanted to grow up.

But now I’m thinking that

maybe I have grown up

and maybe you have too

and maybe we can still have fun

while we talk about something real.

While we talk about something that matters.

How is it that we talk about choosing high schools

but not about the stress that comes with it?

How is it that we talk about our lives

but never the things that have gone sour?

Talking with you feels like something we do

so we can get a laugh.

And honestly?

I don’t need a friend for that.

I can watch a YouTube video

when I want a laugh.

I need a friend to know me,

not a friend to carry my inside jokes.

I think you need that too.

So why can’t we just stop pretending

that we have to be

who we were 

when we were younger?

"six summers"

do you ever wonder what became of me

after you left?

do you ever wish you had stayed?

do you remember that day in august

when you rode to my on your bike

with streamers out the handlebars,

bold as anything,

and asked to be my friend?

do you remember the days that followed,

the ones full of green grass and sunshine and

shouting and messing up mrs. langerson's

tomato patch

and rescuing each other from our mothers?

do you remember the day i broke

your mother's favorite vase (classic move)

and you told her it was you who'd done it

even though

they told us not to lie?

do you remember the day you cried

because the kids at school said

you were strange, and how

i cheered you up

by saying i was strange too so it must be a good thing?

do you remember the day you decided

to sit with the other ones, the popular ones,

the very same who'd made you cry,

and left me

alone at our favorite lunch table?

do you remember the day you said

maybe we shouldn't hang out so much anymore

because we were kind of growing apart? -

dang, you sounded

like my mother when you said that.

just 'cause you didn't want to say the hard words

the words that went, '"i don't want to be your friend anymore, because -"

but because why? because you were one of them now and i wasn't?

but why did you become one of them?

why did you sit with them that day?

why did you leave me?

why? 

i guess i shouldn't have expected you to stay.

you were the one to start the friendship; it

was fitting you should end it.

i thought our lives were one thread

but it turned out they weren't,

they were just twined 'round each other

for six summers, but only six summers.

then they went their separate ways.

i suppose that's simply life

that i should accept that we're little

more than strangers now,

but i can't stop wishing to go back 

to those six summers

when we were younger.

So pretty much as soon as I saw the theme, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. This is one of my first poems that is based on personal experience. The title makes absolutely no sense to anyone but me, but that's because it is sort of an inside joke. I don't know if you'll understand exactly how it fits the theme, but I hope you like it anyway! :D Also, thanks for second place last round, Phoniex Tears! I wasn't so sure about that one, so I was really happy and surprised! 

Dear Tacos

I’ve been thinking about you

Probably more than you do about me

I’ve been remembering your jokes and

Confidence and perfect, glossy hair. 

I’ve been thinking about you

Probably more than you could think about me

I’ve been thinking of you laughing 

(I remember your smile but not the sound)

And your nicknames and your big, brown eyes.

We had a great year. 

A great year of giggles 

Of games

Of inside jokes and chats and just

Being there.

But maybe it wasn’t meant 

For me to keep trying to stretch it on. 

You don’t call me anymore.

You don’t join my game anymore. 

You’ve grown up,

And I don’t really think I want to follow you. 

It’s still hard.

Hard to let go of the days 

In the cafeteria.

Hard to let go of the games at recess.

Hard to let go of the birthday parties.

Hard to let go of the girls who were always there for me in third grade.

But I’ll always know you. 

I’ll always know the little girls you used to be

And the fact that they’re still a part of you.

And maybe it’ll be enough

That you can still be a tiny part

Of me.

when We Were Younger

I saw you,

stainding on the edge 

of the stage,

looking fearfully down at 

the teacher,

dressed in a bear costume

expected to  cartwheel across 

the stage

i new you were scared.

And that's why, 

when you asked me to 

be 

your best freind,

that's why i 

said yes.

And the yes held a future, 

one where i would become

a horrible friend. 

When we were younger, 

i knew i had

taken your only friend,

the new girl

the one who came 

because of you.

When we were younger, 

I called you names

i abandoned 

you 

for another girl.

But then, when she

left, 

I came running, 

to you.

begging.

pleading.

wanting.

to be your freind again. 

When we were younger, 

i had a decision to make, 

yes 

or no.

Now it 

was you 

with the

decision,

now it was you,

wondering 

yes, or

no.

you could have said no.

you should have said no. 

but then again,

i had said yes,

When we were younger.

when you were all

alone. 

And you 

said yes.

When we were younger,

the love i have now for you.

was non-existant.

and the shadows cross

my mind.

and i cry

for you.

for me.

because even now,

you take me under your wing,

as if it never happened.

When we were younger, 

when we were younger. 

Sorry, it came out a bit prose'y. :/

~~~~~~~~~~ 

When we were younger we smiled and laughed and lived and loved. Back then that seemed to be everything for most of us. It seemed like that would always be 'us' and nothing would change.

The treehouse-top nights filled with stars and the smell of freshly cut grass mixing with petrichor and soap-smelling bodies and strawberries. Of golden sunsets sat on sidewalks in parks with fireflies and hot-pavement-smell and prickly grass making us all giggly. Of butterflies again pure blue skies, of clamouring to declare the meanings of the puffs of clouds above. Of summer nights spent in bunkbeds crammed into cabins and tents, singing familiar songs in a language we all somehow know; flurries of tag and sharing food and soaring through the wind and imagination and fun and excited noise.

But time passes as it always does; soon we weren't so young anymore. Now we couldn't smile the same because of what we'd been through. We couldn't laugh the same or it'd break the last fragments of our shattering hearts; we lost some along the way, and lost bits of ourselves too. How could we possibly live, truly and freely as we had before, after that? How cold we bear to unveil our trembling glass hearts, torn and punctured, and expose our vulnerabilities ever again?

Of bleeding sunsets begging to be seen off at the very least, but denied the decency, as we sit locked up and silenced in classrooms. Of late nights and chipped pavement and morning gloom and deep-set coughs that seem to never disappear. Of watching white and orange paper be swallowed up in curls of wispy smoke, and winged eyeliner smudged on red eyes and dripped into tears on gravestones, emblazoned with names of dear friends. Of streetlights and pristine polished tiles with blinding white LED lights soaked in the sharp stench of rubbing alcohol, the crusty burn of eyes shredded by tearstains from last night's thought and slashed flesh. Of feet dancing without miving to silent music through earbuds, and of cracked phone-screens haunted by an ever-increasing of unanswered calls. Of hollow resumes and soar throats that cause husky voices, of talk about colleges none of us can even fathom in this darkness and piercing silence.

But time heals if its players are willing. Our gashes mended, only leaving scar-kissed whispers of our past pain. We were healed or healing and would never forget any of it, but at least we could crack a smile here and there. Burst out laughing at some ridiculous comment. The light returns to our eyes, for we are no longer broken, just bent and bruised and taped together, and can once more open our fragiley-beating hearts; somehow, miraculously, the glass fragments doesn't cut anyone at all.

Somehow we made it. We are still healing. A slow, deep song filled to the brim with clouded purple and blue and brown and dark-grey watercolours begins to play and we know it must be true. We can only hold onto our hope, just as we did when we were younger. Much, much younger.