We Never Talked About It
My mom asked if I wanted to go in.
He knows, and he’s waiting to tell us.
He tells us that I’m a weirdo.
He tells us that I’m quiet, and shy, and going to be like that forever.
And there’s nothing we can do about that.
He smiles, evilly.
He smiles, in pity.
I’ll never see him again.
I’ll have to go home right after.
To do homework.
I’m in my room, and it’s silent.
I know she’s downstairs,
I know she’s mad that I’m like this.
We never talk anymore.
Like we did when I was a kid.
I learned it’s better that way.
Now I know I was right.
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