We're Not That Close

You say my name

like we've known each other

since high school,

where awkward

year book photos

with sweet notes

and signatures

underneath

show how close

we were as friends,

but we met

less than a year ago

and friends

is not a label

I'm comfortable

using to describe

the lie

you keep telling

everyone else. 

My friends

have seen me 

sweat,

blubber,

snort in the middle of laughing,

and stand silently

at my mother's grave,

waiting to be told

what comes next. 

You haven't seen me

at my worst

or my best,

and so far

I don't think

you're the right fit

for me.

You might've been. 

You might've been 

a lot of things,

but telling lies

about me

when I'm not there
to speak the truth

isn't a way

to go anywhere

with me.