Bad Friends Are A Drag Poem by Delilah Miller

When I felt good,
I was just good enough for you.
When I felt powerful,
that was power for you to use,
When I ran,
you clung to my ankle.

Now I see you crawl,
behind me,
eternally,
waiting for me to switch on my smile,
waiting to be set free and on fire,
because you're so soaked with your own keroscene,
a slick and sharp-scented cruelty,
that you can't stand your own smell.
Are all the barbed comments
(waiting to eat up my light,
and seeking a nod no one quite gave you)
still on your pinched lips?

Because I'm not there to hear them;
I'm running, good and powerful,
from a waste of time.