Folklore, Rewritten
I thought I had friends.
Turns out I had an audience.
Standing-room only for my generosity,
applause for my presence,
and a quiet rewrite of my absence
the moment I left the room.
I was kind in a way that looked like light,
so they kept me like a lamp left on in an empty house—
useful, glowing,
but never quite invited to sit at the table I set.
They laughed softly,
the way people laugh when they think you’re not listening,
and forgot loudly,
the way people forget what they never planned to keep.
I became their folklore.
Edited. Exaggerated. Villainized just enough
to make their smallness feel like justice.
They needed my endlessness—
my showing up, my staying, my understanding—
but mistook abundance for obligation,
and called it friendship while counting what they could take.
So I removed the ones who only arrived to drain,
the ones who watched the harm happen
and called it “not their place,”
the ones who mistook my boundaries
for sudden mythology.
Funny how they loved me
right up until I required reciprocity.
Now I stand where the air is clearer,
not echoing with half-truths and borrowed warmth.
And down below, in the swamp they built together,
they still stir the same stories—
crabs in a bucket insisting
I was “too much,”
as if “too much” ever meant anything
besides
not enough courage to rise with me.
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Reading 'Folklore, Rewritten' really resonated with me personally, as I’ve also experienced the feeling of giving so much in friendships only to realize I was more of an audience than a true friend. It’s liberating when you recognize that abundance does not mean obligation, and that setting boundaries is not selfish but necessary for emotional well-being. In my own journey, I realized many times that those I considered friends were not truly invested in reciprocal connection. Like the poem says, they applauded my presence and generosity in front of me but rewrote my absence when I wasn’t around. This taught me to cherish relationships that offer mutual respect and shared vulnerability rather than one-sided draining. The metaphor of being “a lamp left on in an empty house” perfectly captures the feeling of being useful but not genuinely valued. It took courage to remove those who mistook my kindness for weakness or obligation and to embrace clarity where "the air is clearer." Equally powerful is the image of "crabs in a bucket"—people who labeled me "too much" just because they lacked the courage to rise alongside me. This poem encourages us to rise above limited beliefs imposed by others and to honor our own authenticity even if it scares or challenges the status quo. Ultimately, redefining folklore around personal experiences and friendships helps reclaim your narrative from those who edited or villainized your story. Sharing such artistic reflections is crucial for emotional healing and finding your authentic self in a community that accepts you wholly.
