11/26/16

11:59 AM

Dear Poptart,

Hi, friend!

Can we talk for a minute?

I need to find out if I hate you or not

And if not

Why?

You have to understand that for someone who can find reasons to hate nearly everyone

I hate you surprisingly little

Mostly because you're talented I will admit

I can forgive most sins when they are committed by artists

And it may make me heartless

But I cannot forgive anyone who

Has no work to harvest

At the end of the season

That's the thing about having artists for friends --

When I look at your work and it

Stuns me

Or delights me

Or intrigues me

Or frightens me

It becomes that much easier to forget your downfalls

In fact, I told you this once in such an ostentatiously obscure way that you could have never known:

You asked me for a poem

Which no one (no one) ever does

You wanted it for a picture of yours

So I gave you the first stanza:

Have you ever slept on secrets?

Have you felt them in your skin?

Have you heard them calling at your door?

And have you let them in?

But do you know why I sent you this poem?

Because it ends like this:

Now, in the kingdom of secrets and lies

She is queen, he is the king

And she has learned, if you love someone enough

You can ignore anything.

If I had sent that last stanza to you

You still would have thought nothing of it

Anyway, it makes sense to me at least

Yes, I love you

Maybe more than the others

Because it's easier to love an artist

You can love their work

And their work displays their thoughts

And their thoughts betray their feelings

And feelings are usually so well hidden that you feel like a lottery winner when you stumble across a cache of somebody's, so prominently displayed in the form of art.

Which brings me to this:

You care about my work

You are my only friend who will actually 

Read my poems

Look at my drawings

Listen to what I'm trying to say

I think it's absurd that our friends know me so little

When I put myself on such obvious display

If you don't want to know me you have to 

Consciously look away

The other day

You drew a baby with the ballpoint pen you stole from your sister

And I practically choked with delight when I saw it

There's something maternal

About the way you draw

And it came into full light when I saw that baby

With each stroke, each line

You are creating other worlds

You are making new people

New ways to be alive

And it shocks me how little everyone cares

Ah, well, I have a thousand more things to say to you

But a picture's worth that much, isn't it?

Everyone wants to change us, Poptart.

They want to unwrap us and toast us and serve us on a plate, even though we're perfectly delicious the way we are.

Anyhow, I realize you have no idea about any of this so I will stop now.

    Your friend,

            -Never

(PS: If you ever read this, I know I'm overthinking you. But maybe the person I see in you really is just a little true.)