(unfit) befriend me

covered in blankets on a Sunday afternoon

outside my brick walls i hear children

naive to the dismay that surrounds them

across the street, young lovers squabble

their discussions can sometimes be heard

proof that hate is the opposite of love

and their emotional divide creates steep slopes

slick with tears and pocketed by deep cuts

three scenarios melded into a moment

i envision skipping along my timeline

dotting the similar scenes with yellow

worthy of review at a later point

back to my bedroom

i share my day with a select few

the passing breeze is my sensory postman

delivering the daily in random broadcasts

a quick scent of grass clippings and grilled cuisine

trampled by neighborly ramblings

experienced listeners can snare

secrets from the stillness

and meaning from the masses

happy melodies waft from the music machine

the type of friend that never listens

but only because they have so much to say

we're puzzle pieces cut from a whole

empty introversion welcoming plucky perception

their harmonic recollections enable me to imagine

my white walls dripping and under footing crashing

content to drown in a dizzying, hyper-colored surf

or simply another soul who's shared my cracked spectacles