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.