My Best Friend Is ME

I am narcissist, admiring my own attributes.
I am my own best friend, always there for
myself, always sympathetic, always true.
I like that ME, a rather distinguished,
earthy chap, one with a stately mien
who mocks not, but instead culls
the positive when I hang crepe.

ME has strong hands, an easy smile,
a disposition gleaming as precious stone.
I am exonerated from self-crucifixion when
ME rushes in and, with cerebral aplomb,
lowers the cross and extracts long,
rusty spikes.

ME is me as a photographic negative,
as black is white, as day is night.
Essential opposites warring on
so many battlefields of anxiety,
in trenches wet from excessive
bleeding.

Oh best friend, how you have
entry to the rationale, to the
spacious expanse where
thinking abides, to logic
and reason.  ME is the
mind, a friend indeed.

25 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
11-13-16