I’ll be alone tomorrow.
My friends have found the truth.
I have said it aloud; now I’m in shame.
I thought they would forgive me.
I wanted understanding and acceptance.
Instead, their judgment was unanimous.
Will I be stuck as an eternal “I”?
“We” and “our” are foreign words now.
I know that I have made a grievous error.
With no one to share with, I began to despair.
The days have been passing slowly.
I cannot expect freedom again.
The world around me is black.
I can wish for friends, but it will be in vain.
I will be alone again and again.
William Wayne Smith
One of my worries had been that I do something bad and lose a friend. My imagination can be vivid so that I can compound simple conflicts into a lost friendship. If I can’t forgive myself—why would anyone else?
This poem takes that fear to new levels. Not only have I made a mistake, it is so severe that everyone abandons me. They reject me because some secret sin had been revealed.
If I am alone, I cannot use “we” and “us” again. This is as if one mistake would be a dead end for my life in the world.
I make mistakes all of the time. They do not mean that I am unworthy of the caring and friendships that I cherish.
This poem paints a bleak outlook on reality. I don’t embrace that perspective, but my imagination could bring it forth at times.