I Don’t Have A Lot Of Friends.

A poem.


i read the room

checking where the exits are

counting the people

eyes flitting from one corner

to another

checking the mood.


i notice the way you lace your shoes

and how your odd socks are red and green.

i see the smudge

in the window of your glasses

and watch the small changes

in your expressions.


i see the way you stand

and how it’s different

depending on how you feel.

i can tell you’re wearing the same shirt

as you did yesterday-

the smudge on your shoulder is still there.


i get told off for staring

but it’s them with mud on their shoes

or food in their teeth

or fluff in their hair

or dirt under their nails

but maybe they don’t care.


i don’t have a lot of friends

because i notice

maybe too much about things

that don’t matter

and not enough

about things that do.


but i notice what gatorade flavour

is your favourite

and what song

you listen to on repeat

and what shoes you wear

on Saturdays with your jeans.


i can remember where you told me

you go to get your hair cut,

and i can tell you what you told me

about people falling in love.

and i can’t say i’ve had a friend before

but i hope i am enough.






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