I hate you friend, whenever
you leave
careless trails of
crayoned squiggles upon
my paper.

What is this supposed to be,
friend?
Abstract art with
hidden woes tucked under the
lanky loops?
An invasion of
what was once blank and pure?
Or have you climbed down from
your rank of years and
made my notebook victim to
your Kindergarten scribbles?

Whatever it is,
friend,
I’m not amused.
Please withdraw and
mutilate your own
lined papers, instead of
penning ugly scars of
disproportioned smiles into
mine.

I hate your
imposing smile,
friend.
I hate it whenever
you greet me in
sympathetic tones,
whenever your rude, prying
orbs peek through
mine for the interior design,
ironically judging
what is within to be
sad solitude.

Isolated, cold,
a little lamb in a confined room of
black, calling meekly for
your childish army of sloppy hearts,
two dimensional “I love U’s”.

Isolated, confined within my own
dream-sailing bubble.
Oh what a serene feeling that would be.
To finally find my
peace in the still solace,
to have my
rest, to feel the
chill and not worry for the blazing sun to
scorch my thin paper skin.

To plug my ears with songs of
the Apple contraption.
To walk out and
tread along the vast plains.

Alone, at last.