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Pimples, pimples

Rah rah rah.

Pimples, pimples

hah hah hah.

Ohhhh I hate pimples!

Friends get hurt.

People are callous.

I was just joking!

Laughs are nervous.

No one wants to get Involved.

More friends get hurt.

The Game is no longer fun.

Do I accept my incompetence

at managing my budget?

My financial status is a sorry sight.

Do I give in to the temptation

of asking for help?

Yet again?

Or do I tough it out and let my family suffer?

I learn from the courses,

but the lessons do not stick.

I am in need of an accountant

who will only let me have my “allowance”.

I think I am doomed!

A temporary girlfriend!

Friends with benefits?

Fuck buddies!

A lover in modern times?

Why do all these terms

not include the feelings

of those involved?

It is passionate

or compassionate

and it is done with love.

It is not just the brush

It is the user.

Emotionally challenged.

Not sure she has the strength

to move forward with messy hair.

Comments will be made

but most of them

will be brushed aside.

It arrives on my desk.

Contents are a mystery.

Shall I push the envelope?

Move it aside?

Should I open it?

Is there something dreadful inside?

What if it is good news?

Who gave it to me?

What should I do?

I wonder if it is empty?

The joy of a prank?

Decision made.

I will be forever curious unless…

They hurt.

They incapacitate.

They last.

They can be invisible.

Healing will come.

But only if you have

the support needed.

Doctors can diagnose an injury,

but it is the ones who nurse

you back to health

that matter the most!

A jump from behind a corner.

A shriek of surprise.

Racing away giggling.

Footsteps running down the hall.

Tackled to the ground.

Cries of laughter peel through the house.

Questions arise concerning your purpose.

Some know immediately  what they are meant to do.

Others will never know.

I still search for mine.

Though I know my impact will not be lessened

just because I know not why I am here.