Two Peas
by Vicky Suggs
You say there are so many ways that we can both relate.
Yet, considering some crucial points that you cannot debate,
I denounce these claims as things your mind was quick to fabricate.
For though I may seem bright to you, a mental darkness won't abate.
Yes, we both participate in this event, or that.
Yes, we both might laugh together, at some silly fact.
Yes, we both have interests that sometimes overlap.
Yes, we both can dance along to any simple act.
But, really, do we, really, have some sort of link?
No, please, please, do tell me: what do you really think?
I'd love to hear your thoughts, for I'm nearly at the brink.
The darkness that's consumed me is as black as any ink.
How often have you left me for your other, newer friends?
How often have you noticed when my heart’s at a dead end?
How often have you seen me playing catch-up, nearly crying?
How often am I trying to patch these holes that need amends?
Where is the mooring holding me to you, and you to me?
What are the ties that bind us, to any worthy degree?
Would you claim that I'm as close to you as, perhaps, a pea?
Can you truly say that I'm your friend, if you won't look at me?
by Vicky Suggs
You say there are so many ways that we can both relate.
Yet, considering some crucial points that you cannot debate,
I denounce these claims as things your mind was quick to fabricate.
For though I may seem bright to you, a mental darkness won't abate.
Yes, we both participate in this event, or that.
Yes, we both might laugh together, at some silly fact.
Yes, we both have interests that sometimes overlap.
Yes, we both can dance along to any simple act.
But, really, do we, really, have some sort of link?
No, please, please, do tell me: what do you really think?
I'd love to hear your thoughts, for I'm nearly at the brink.
The darkness that's consumed me is as black as any ink.
How often have you left me for your other, newer friends?
How often have you noticed when my heart’s at a dead end?
How often have you seen me playing catch-up, nearly crying?
How often am I trying to patch these holes that need amends?
Where is the mooring holding me to you, and you to me?
What are the ties that bind us, to any worthy degree?
Would you claim that I'm as close to you as, perhaps, a pea?
Can you truly say that I'm your friend, if you won't look at me?