friend

Friend.
/Am/ I your friend?
I’d like to think so.
But  I think we both know the truth.
You don’t see me as “friend”.

You use me like a tool;
And we both know that it is
Because I let you.
So please continue to do so.

You ignore me for months on end,
Seemingly pointedly,
Yet expect me to come running
back each time like some mutt
whenever you feel that I am of use to you.
If you had wanted a pet,
You should’ve asked.
…You’re a terrible “Master”.
A real dog would’ve run away
Long before now.

So what am I to you?
What do you see me as?
…
I see you as someone dear to me.
I know that I love you
But it’s not the same ‘color’
as loving someone as a lover or a mate.
Nor is it the same ‘color’
of love that I hold for my kin.
But it /is/ the same ‘volume’.

How is it possible to love you this ‘loudly’
But in the wrong ‘color’?
I don’t have the right words for it.
Ironic. That I have no words to describe it
While here I am writing it as best I can in poetry.

You are the first person to ever treat me as an equal.
You are the first person to care.
You are the first person I ever thought of as “friend”.
And because of you,
I now know what having a friend is like.
I don’t want to leave your side.
I want you to see me as “friend” too.
Please.
I don’t want to go back to being by myself.
I don’t want to be lonely again.
I don’t want to feel alone.

~M