Imagine if I never messed up.

When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more detached, more free, than that of a young man. Being poorly integrated in the universe of humanity and hardly able to adapt herself therein, she, like the child, is able to see it objectively; instead of being interested solely in her grasp on things, she looks for their significance; she catches their special outlines, their unexpected metamorphoses. She rarely feels a bold creativeness, and usually lacks the technique of self-expression; but in her conversation, her letters, her literary essays, her sketches, she manifests an original sensitivity. The young girl throws herself into things with ardor, because she is not yet deprived of her transcendence; and the face that she accomplishes nothing, that she is nothing, will make her impulses only the more passionate. Empty and unlimited, she seeks from within her nothingness to attain all.

— Simone de Beauvoir.

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That one secret friend I once had

was someone I hated to love

yet someone I hated to hate.

My secret friend appeared out of nowhere

as a friend in need I was obsessed about

or, at least, to act the part of a friend.

The secret friend made me keep a secret

offering me praises in private

and giving me tips to keep it up.

That secret friend told me truths about me

knowing what I would want to hear

knowing what I would do about me.

My secret friend made me feel good

encouraging me to count the numbers

watching them grow smaller.

The secret friend kept me glued to this square

pale white on the bathroom floor

with a wobbly hand to keep score.

That secret friend made comparisons

making me to feel sensitive and wary

about what others to said about me.

My secret friend told distorted truths

that made me stay away from mirrors

and made me too afraid of myself.

The secret friend pushed me to the edge

and made me feel like jumping off

but I made a choice to stay away.

That one secret friend I once had

is a voice that has left my head

and one I'll never have back.

————————

M.

Imagine if I had the power to control the voices in my head

And I could tell them to shut the f up.