i'd like to be late
so late
to everything and everyone else's welcome party
maybe the kind of late that makes you wonder if i would ever come in the first place
waiting, standing in line
in the rain, just so late
walking slowly before the buses rush through you;
letting your hair dry on the way
your soles get wet and your feet get swollen
a layer of skin so thick and rusty it bounces off you like a bandaid.
so late that even my steps are heard from a mile away,
a person long forgotten, a becoming
maybe even so late that no one will be waiting for me,
no cake left,
no parties
no rain.
january 2021
i always thought that friendship was meant to have
a set of rules to keep it from dying,
a form to fill and sign to say 'you're in it for the long haul'
but i guess that now it's more about meeting in empty parks after months
and crying over how our fathers never learnt to love us
without actually talking on the daily.
probably i shouldn't be so hard on myself for thinking
nobody loves me anymore for not texting first,
it's a millenial disease; at least it sounds like that.
maybe friends are for the rough and the good,
and the few that have the guts to stick around everyday
are trying not to break their own necks.
maybe this is growing up, i don't know.
a set of rules to keep it from dying,
a form to fill and sign to say 'you're in it for the long haul'
but i guess that now it's more about meeting in empty parks after months
and crying over how our fathers never learnt to love us
without actually talking on the daily.
probably i shouldn't be so hard on myself for thinking
nobody loves me anymore for not texting first,
it's a millenial disease; at least it sounds like that.
maybe friends are for the rough and the good,
and the few that have the guts to stick around everyday
are trying not to break their own necks.
maybe this is growing up, i don't know.