Back-stabbing

I recently had a friend be a real ass to me. And I got upset because I never see it coming when people try to screw me over. This upsets me most because I do not trust people in the first place, so all that awful behavior does is push me farther from others and reaffirm my underlying assumptions about people's inherent jerk-ness.

But I remind myself, and others help, that this is one person, who maybe made some mistake, or maybe is an ass, but who does not stand in for the world. THey really, really don't.

I am sitting in a Madison cafe, listening to Amelie, Sufjan, Shins, and Radiohead play on the radio. I do not miss Soma. I do not miss home right now. I feel good, strong, and irritated by the notion that I have to be ready for class in 20 minutes. Irritated because this, here, now, feels good. Listening to music and reminding myself that I do not deserve to be treated like shit nor will most people I care about actually turn out not to be my friends.

A POEM:
TITLE: I am not so good at associating with you

People walk down city streets with their hair well-ordered and their shirts tucked
in.
Some have bright red hair, close to the orange of fire. I
Wish that I could be both of these, and understandingly brave
To boot. But here I sit, broken and hearted,
Isolated by inches of plate glass and several coffee shop tables.

Perhaps if I reached through the space that separates, our hands would touch, and
Miraculously, I would be understood. The man with orange hair and shimmery
Blue business might unbutton one white button of his shirt, might
Let down his elegant hair and give me some armor,
An equally shimmery shirt or more likely some kind words.

He speaks in my mind and all I can hear is static.