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When I've offered you nothing but friendship
and you say that you don't believe in me
who I am
what I am
Then how can you ever refer to yourself as my friend, your angel?
You loved me, who I was
when I entered your life
as is
until you decided
that someone like me
just couldn't be
real
Yet here I am
still
just me
as I was
before
Friendship is a story that unfolds
not reading material
discarded
when the mood strikes
You strike out at me
thinking that I am left un noticed
I see
I hear
eyes closed in frustration
when I am doubted
Your calls of frantic need
were never left
unheard
your talent recognized
for everything that it was
At war with yourself
with myself as its
casuality
painful
left on the battlefield of your imagination
Still I lean on the wall
of trust
steadfast
realizing that time will tell
us
both
just what is fact
from fiction
I dislike
'I told you so's'
yet this is the path that we are headed down
broken strings
on which to play our song
You spout
that it was never our fate
as if I coveted our friendship
into more than it ever truly was
without inquiring what my heart truly spoke
to yours
I merely believed
when you did not
however what I believed in
was your words
your gift to me
Nothing as overt
as the others
I mean to pursue
my destiny
my truth
not yours
Your belief
or lack of
pushes me to the end of my wits
I've nothing to prove
to you
the mirror does that daily
it doesn't lie
Self loathing
doesn't suit either one of our spirits
nor does doubt
there isn't the room
in the house of souls
We walk towards the light
attempting to find our way home
where our truths
survive us
Take my hand and know my dreams
as they become reality
our prose
coming to life
the promise
fulfilled
for all to read
Names
side by side
in trust
in belief
Have a glorious week,
From my hand to yours,
Sawyer
Saint Andrews