BUFFALO 8

i wrote a poem about him dying but you look just like a friend of my mother’s that died, which i think all too often. she is too young and so am i. i was late to ryan’s poetry class because i couldn’t sleep that night. your hair and your skin are the same. i don’t want to. i found his note tucked in a yearbook and i’ll never show you. i don’t know if he thought about me. a male buffalo often obstructs the female’s view of other males. you are severely indifferent to my past. you roll in your wallow, throw up dust obscructing my recall. it’s from a friend that died. JACKEE. it says. WE ARE SIMILIAR PEOPLE. i keep thinking this. YOU ARE ADDICTED TO. i embellished. AND I… WELL, MY VICE IS DRUGS. they took you i wrote a poem about it i got an A i felt better for you. EITHER WAY, WE ARE BOTH VERY SCRUMPTIOUS PEOPLE. he signed it. LOVE, MCKEEVER. it is important because it is important for you to really know me to know this. he once looked at me like i was alive. can you look at me that way?