PART 1

For evil are the eyes that speak demon lies.
And for all the lies,
another one becomes
too much to take
and more to lose.
And as I look in the mirror I see,
these dark evil eyes
staring into mine,
only they are my own.
Who would have ever thought
the person I lie not to
would also be
one I’ve never met.

Way back when, I was young
school was play time
and homework was exciting
I met a person whom to trust.
Only the fact is,
we never played on the playground
or finger-painted beside each other
in second grade art,
but learned together how to write.
What was class mate pen pals
turned into a long friendship
from second grade until now,
junior year in college.

Even my parents
did not know truth
they may know no lies
but truth they did not care.
I took care of myself
only depended on
financial support.
I remember when my dad
set up email for our family
it meant even less talk
but faster communication
to this far away pen pal.
Our weekly letters that continued
after only that year
became a daily thing.
Later as a freshman
that Christmas I got a phone
and it wasn’t long
till our chat was sporadic
throughout the day.

For years I’ve wondered
my lack of skill in communicating
in class and home no one knew me
and no one cared to.
Maybe they did,
but my heart couldn’t trust
for who knows what reason.
Either way I was mystified,
that this pen pale of mine
how we never ran short of words
as so many I have with others
before one was even spoken.

Now before me though
sitting in an advance literature class
the boy in front, laptop up
is strangely emailing someone
as I just so happen
to have received an email.
Reading from my pal
is just a funny day’s story
on how the professor’s
talk is on metaphors
of a monkey and an orange,
which apparently are similar.
To think it was a dream
as I looked up and none the less
I was sitting in on that same conversation.
Quick to respond
I tell him the irony.
The boy before I noticed
now scanning the room
stops when he meets my eyes,
uncomfortable I scan too,
only to realize
we’re the only ones with laptops up.

Shortly latter dismissed
I’m stopped before too far,
confronted by my pen pal,
Nick,
the one I’ve never met.
Who knows all secrets.
Who knows my passions.
Who knows me better than I allow all others.

What hopes to be part one of a poetic story. More to come. Opinions are appreciated.

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