Bored Immigrant Poetry

pardon me, friendship!
but I cannot seem to get myself
to have fun with you

small talks, life complaints
you suck life out of me
that I end up questioning
my integrity and sincerity
in whims

since when have we really laughed?
like laughed out loud that has made the earth
vibrate with joy?

since when have we allowed ourselves
to be vulnerable?
so vulnerable that even the passers-by
and the onlookers have been given the
opportunity to meet or rekindle
their sensitivity?

since when have we told each other
the truths?
the surprising truths that would inspire
us to become better humans?

are we supposed to simply connect
through food, shopping, exchanging presents,
tipping each other off about the latest
entertainment, and gossiping about
work and family dramas?

thank goodness, you have only
extended two different hand shakes to me,
but… how should I know how to keep them real?
how can I be more authentic?
how can I grow from these sporadic interactions
that have already been making me feel tired?

what’s your purpose?
am I being arrogant for
defying and confronting you?
who am I to you?
what am I for you?
where am I when I’m with you?
how memorable is this?

Is it an adventure?
Pardon me for growing up.
I grew up so fast alone.
With or without you,
I am the only friend
that my heart and soul
has ever known.