Strangers
are the closest companions.
You take a shot
and I let it go.
You say I’m pretty
and I let it go.
Will we meet again?
I don’t know.
Strangers
are the closest companions.
You take a shot
and I let it go.
You say I’m pretty
and I let it go.
Will we meet again?
I don’t know.
At parties I sit quiet and calculate my words
I avoid the eyes of guys and stare at my phone.
After all that hiding,
dissatisfaction feels like heartburn,
crying over a simple email
the lasts build a lump in my throat
last time beaming onstage
signing yearbooks
wearing a stiff blue skirt
One girl’s lanky frame against the dark turf field,
lit up by fluorescent lights
She saunters toward the building
holding another girl’s hand
Comments
This is so true!
Yay I'm grateful that someone understands how I feel!
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