friendship · poetry

The Friendzy

Maybe I should sit down.
Maybe I’m tired.
Blow smoke or tip a glass,
Or not. Because I don’t smoke.
Sounds good to me.
Until it’s here…the moment…when I realize
there’s no way.
To make sense would be to hide away,
But the crowd has left the room.
The crowd does all the talking.
To stand alone but not away is not possible.
You are with us now.
But I still want to smoke. Blow smoke
rings in the air.
I still want to hide but not from you.
The gang is gathering up at Charlie’s.
Since when are we friends with him?
With them?
No place to lay my head.
My head hurts.  I wake up
and my head hurts.
Maybe I am tired.
But Charlie never sleeps.
We never sleep.
Too caught up in the friendzy.
I wish I smoked.

~Mandy

 

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2 thoughts on “The Friendzy

  1. Your poem conveys that feeling of “friendzy” for which you also coin a word… wanting to hide away, having a headache… I love the line: “Since when are we friends with him?” I think it’s very good!

    Like

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