She knew that self-deprecation
Would attract the wrong kind of friends.
They would think of it as an invitation
To make fun of her, call her names,
Shouting obscenities at her thick skin,
And she would laugh because that’s what she does,
Not take herself seriously. They had no idea who she really was.
And they would have an absence of humour,
They would never be able to take a joke, not
When it is about themselves. They can only dish out.
And she grew up and close to all of these jokes and images,
Those laughing ugly grimaces of her pseudo friends who
Felt relieved by her ways, who gained confidence by absorbing her.
And she would go on for years because she felt so alone and
She abandoned all of her strengths and truths.
“Portrait of a Lady Wearing a Patch” by Robert Peake the Elder (1551-1619)