Our friends have gone round the bend.
From silently depriving us of loose change,
and offering handshakes in the middle of the road,
they now take what we cannot spare
and force us to look at our shoes when they walk by.
We’re at war, people!
Tough up or die like a coward,
or worse, allow hot slaps descend on you in the middle of the damn street.
Embarrass your girlfriend.
Their systems are drowning in alcohol,
and their intoxicated eyes magnify our small missteps
and like the good friends that they are,
they correct us with love so heavy and blinding
that our ears start to ring.
But it’s as true as the sky is green.
They really are your friends.
Who else reads your embarrassing chats,
punishes your ignorance with pointless questions,
“Who is this boy that is crossing leg in this picture?”
While you grope for the words to explain that he’s
Wiz Khalifa,they slap you again.
But you have run out of options.
You are powerless.
A bloody civilian.
They will punch you with their law enforcement fists
and you will die a fowl’s death.
And nothing will happen.
You will complain.
They will enjoy your defiance for a while,
run out of patience,
and slap away your “big boy” rights,
ransack your house,
disturb the peace you never had,
slap you some more,
waylay your better judgement
because everybody’s mad.
You’re probably mad too.
But It’s okay as long as you smile through it,
confess to crimes your father did not commit,
and exonerate yourself with money you’re not using,
then everybody’s happy.
What are friends for?
AKA The Ink magician. I’m Superwoman and chocolate is my kryptonite.