You have no name for me
A poem
"You are my best friend" you say
and then you turn your back
and, although you are going home,
i see you walking to the friend
who has been with you since you were seven,
and lives near you, and is more extrovert than I am,
and after all these years you are still in the same class,
and she has been your friend for longer.
You re walking home,
and I see your smile brighter,
and your pictures with her are much more
than the seconds we have spend together.
You don’t see her as often
and yet you talk to her daily.
I tap you on your elbow,
"you are my best friend".
I am walking home,
and there is no one who waits for me.
The walls are empty and the picture
we took today is hanging in your phone
between the pictures of others.
"I can’t find it" you replied
after the dozen time I asked you about it.
I have less friends than seasons
and, therefore,
not enough time to fully take them in.
Each of them has a home -
a friend they have known for longer.
There is no name allowed for me,
no home where I exist;
no one, to call my inner child home.
