friday night – out

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excuse the mess (referring to both my room & me) – genuine photo I sent to a friend to show her what I was wearing prior to the event that inspired the poem below (09/16)

9pm – 3am
(day off)

my white jeans
are stained with sticky memories
and I wish they were covered
with the drinks
I shouldn’t have drowned in
instead.

It’s funny how you tell people
you regret friday night
and they wink and say
“bet you had fun though!”

As if clinging onto people
instead of my toppling pride
would be in the highlight reel
of my life.

As if wanting to vomit up excuses why
I’m acting like a scared little girl
and not being heard or seen
doesn’t make me want to cry.

As if becoming a fumbling stumbling mess
was what I was looking forwards to
all this time.

at least I learnt that
losing control
when you feel out of control
is like jumping off a bridge
just because you’re sick
of the way gravity
makes the air feel so heavy
on your shoulders
(it’s stupid)

and even though
alcohol makes you
feel like you can fly
away from both the whispers
and indifference
the shots will always hit you
and here comes the fall
everybody/nobody
was waiting for

remember
when you said you wouldn’t
do this ever again?

[work/out]

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friday night – work

Processed with VSCO with b5 preset

11pm – 7am
(graveyard shift)

tonight,
my friends dance
under strobe lights
as I get drunk on alcosan
sanitising my heart
of the desire to be
anywhere but here

they cannot wait
for cute boys
chiselled by the shadows
of their flickering pocket screens
to objectify them
as I fight the urge
to down whatever poison
I’m pouring for the next guy
who can’t look up from his phone
for a fraction of a second
to humanise me

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