My New Friend

To my friend;

I call you my friend because of the light you brought into my life.

It was a seemingly warm fall day
as I strolled down the street
with my new family
in Mount Dora, Florida.

The kids wanted to go to the games and book store.

Walking through the aisles with my baby strapped to my chest,
I was attempting to block out the sounds of bratty stepkids.

I passed by the self help books, feeling hopeless,
until I saw the laminated sign labeled poetry.

My new life faded from my mind
as pictures from younger days flickered in my eyes.

I used to write.

I used to write a lot.

It started out as anger on paper.
A way to yell at my parents
without actually speaking to them.

A way to vent my deepest secrets without feeling lost.

Then it evolved.

I began writing down my every thought.
Poems on napkins and paper bookmarks.

Eventually,
I could even write about love.

Hope and inspiration,
not just depression.

I fell in love.

With the pen to paper,
With reading to others.
With self discovery and fictitious lovers.

I was in love until the honeymoon ended.

A man broke up my steamy romance.
With words and phrases and improper grammar.

I moved to Florida and hopped on a one way train to the American Dream.

The black and white label grew in me
and I started from the left with the first book I could see.

This is where you come in.

Jab.

I read one page and I was a fan.

I breastfed my baby to sleep in his nursery
and I read your book out loud.

Deep down hoping he would somehow hear me
and acquire a slice of your imperfect brain.