My excuses?

Excuse my excuses.

He said I’m better of telling the truth.

Those times i made excuses,

I wasn’t bold enough to be honest.

Maybe that’s what hurts you.

Maybe i didn’t want to hurt your feelings…

Probably my excuses did more harm.

I’m going to be honest.

I don’t like you.

I don’t like the way i feel around you.

Anytime i get close to you, inadequacy meets discomfort-

My loneliness is magnified.

I won’t come to your party  because i don’t know your fiends.

Fiona’s friends are my friends too.

They are accepting.

I won’t come for your wedding.

I don’t want to be reminded of the things you have that i don’t.

I don’t want to have to think murderous thoughts while “fake-smiling” at people.

I don’t want to ogle at the wedding clothes, colors or the food or stand back unsure as to whether to join in the picture or just slink away home.

I don’t want to see you happy and go and cry on my bed.

I don’t want to tell you this either, so my friend’s aunty’s cousin is dead and i need to be at the funeral.

Morbid stuff excite me.

 

 

 

Baafi’s piece, The Excuse Game, sort of inspired this.

 

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