The Blame Game

Boredom sets in.

1st semester college finals

Love of Travel, Musicals and Les Miserables;

That’s how I met her. My Best Friend.

Stringy blonde hair

Pale blue eyes

Small frame

Somehow we clicked:

We shared twin beds,

bikinis in the summer,

and joys and sorrows year round;

Now, who’s to blame?

You: too drunk

and violent to tell me you

might be carrying his

baby?

Me: so weighted by

anxiety watching you hit

him that I left to save

myself?

That’s how I lost her. my friend.

Now it’s different:

No drunk Skype calls screaming

about dropping charges against your rapist?

No more voicemails shouting,

“Fuck you, I can handle myself.”

No more calls from your parents

wanting me to get you out of the psych ward.

No. More.

Now, I’m Free.

Thank you, Friend.