Some seethe at my lack of anger,
but I've been angry enough for a lifetime.
I have poured decades into resentment
and smashed potential into pavement,
and I haven't got any bitterness left in me.

It matters not if you scour me with words.
My skin is that much thicker than yours.
An armor that allows for flexibility
surrounds and envelops and protects me.
You cannot hurt me. I have found my peace.

Covered in cobwebs--
nothing has changed.
And maybe that's why
I feel this pain.

Maybe I need to
open the windows, open the doors,
open conversations that lead to more.

When I snap out of the haze
and actually feel like myself
for a moment,

you're still there,

no further away
than you were then.
You're still my friend.