My Best Friend Told Me A Poem I Wrote Gave Him Cancer And Now I’m A Confident Poet
Not as wild a ride as you might think, but mildly wild nonetheless.
I’m open to the possibility of hating you.
— Mustapha Khamissa
Picture this.
It’s late February 2018. You’ve just finished your very first poetry collection. It was a labour of love. It’s led to long-overdue closure over your first love. She’s now one of your best friends. She herself loved the copy you sent her for her birthday.
I said some form of the word “love” three times in that last paragraph.
…suddenly I understand my best friend a little more.
Moving on.
Having finished writing your book, you’re ecstatic to show all your friends the proof copy. It’s a real book! That you can hold! Written by you!
Naturally, the best friends come first. The close ones. People you’ve confided in, had your moments of self-doubt with, shared the process with. The ones who’ve had to deal with you talking about this damn book for the past year.
All of them congratulate you. They’re proud of you for following through on your word, and more than a little surprised…
