Friends say I am a brook,
both gentle and calming.
I am its waters that are cold to the touch.

Friends claim I am the belladonna flower;
modestly beautiful and desirable.
I am its fruit that is sickingly poisonous.

Friends insist my words are music;
lulling harmonies that console and incite joy.
I am the silent rests between the melodies.

Friends suggest I am spring;
breathing life into the lives of all with my rainbow palette personality.
I am the constant rain which brings with it charcoal skies.

Friends assure I am a star;
bright, a source of hope, and one-of-a-kind.
I am distant, and fatal to those who tread near.

Friends are pencil;
despite the indentation they leave,
it does not mask that what they say isn’t permanent.

With a flip of a coin my opinion is theirs and their opinion is mine.
What’s left is the eraser shavings of memories to be swept off the page,
and the question of who was ever right the whole time.