my friend asked me what would i have if i didn’t have writing

i looked at her and thought about it for a long minute

well

i’d have the sickness in my head still

a million tales of heartache dancing in my chest

anxiety and pain

odes of love and pretty words of missed opportunities and near misses

i’d have exactly what i have now really

she nodded

she’s lovely and if i weren’t me and she hadn’t known me for too long we might have had a thing

but she knows all too well and has seen some of the crime scenes i’ve had to vacate

but she loves me and i love her like a sister

maybe a cousin

twice removed

but she has seen the skeletons and read the words and knows me as better than i do by a pretty wide margin

she nods

looks at me in genuine concern and asks if writing it out helps at all

that makes me sit back

immediately i want to say yes but it feels less than forthcoming

no

not really

but instead of sitting alone rocking back and forth as the storms rack my body and my brain won’t hush i can spit it out as it falls and hope someone else enjoys it

but does it alleviate the pain

no

it allows me to look at it in three dimensions

understand the curvature of it

rub my hands all over it and feel the sharp spots that tug and tear me open inside

i guess i want to make something beautiful out of it but i don’t have the talents to harness beauty so i just make ugly and live with it

she looks at me and mentions how i’ve always preferred ugly

yeah, but that’s because i understand ugly

ugly is exactly what it is

beauty is more

a beautiful woman may be ugly on the inside and in the end she is an ugly person

an ugly person may have beauty on the inside but even as it shines through that are still ugly

that beautiful woman can fool you

the ugly man cannot

she laughs at me and wonders if i write to trick the world into thinking i’m beautiful

nope

i am exactly as advertised

just an ugly troll

that waxes poetic and let’s the words do what they will

it doesn’t make me feel better

it doesn’t change the facts of who i am

she kisses me in the cheek and holds my hand and tells me she thinks i’m handsome

i blush and look away because even if it is a lie it feels good and makes me sad at the same time

then i leave her with the check and laugh as i drive home to write about writing not making a damned thing better

i love you darling and if you didn’t know me quite so well i would have loved to make you miserable as well

but i’ll settle for friends

thanks for lunch