I said, “I want to be friends.”
“Don’t you think I’m attractive?” you asked.
“This has nothing to do with that,” I replied.
“Are you rejecting my love?” you asked sadly.
This conversation was already going badly.
We had met two weeks before and shared poetry,
Hers was light and fluffy, lifting the soul.
Mine was darker with shades of gray, all details told.
I expected her opinion, constructive criticism at it’s best,
but I froze when she answered,
“When I read yours, I lost respect for you,” she said matter-of-fact.
“Shades of gray has no place in poetry or prose.
Your poems are disgusting when you have scenes like those.”
“Yours were still beautiful,” yet between the words I said
were my feelings trampled and left for dead.
if she had offered hope for better days
I would be more careful and change my ways.
but I felt condemned and hurt, no turning back.
I thought we were friends. This was a personal attack.
Friends forever, I would still try to do this.