The others never got to Jane
quite like tequila had.
While sober one might think her plain,
Jose turned good girl, bad.

In a haze of salt and lime she
thought herself a hero.
A partying vigilante,
but powers? She had zero.

That never stopped Jane in her tracks.
She thought herself quite brave.
Jane’s friends disagreed with these facts,
and wished she would behave.

On the night before prom they drank,
Each kid grabbing a brew.
Jane grabbed her bottle with a “thanks”
and drank the whole night through.

The tequila was pumping through
her veins and Jane felt strong,
as she did a slurred rendition
of her favorite song.

Though the words were a bit muddied
and she was quite off key
the group all sang along with her,
the crowd howling with glee.

“I’m strong!” They stared. “And you know it!”
The drunken hero rose.
One boy yelled, “She’ll fall and eat ****!”
They watched, all on their toes.

“She’ll try and fly again.” one said.
Tequila Jane was nuts.
“Last time she slipped, and fell and bled!”
***** made Jane a klutz.



“Get down from there!” her friend growled,
grabbing her by the hand.
“Back off man! Total party foul!”
Jane squealed, trying to stand.

But the liquor was too much, those
the shots had made her woozy.
Jane passed out, thus the story goes,
of our favorite ******.

Tell me about your new *****.
That eyes like the sun *****.
That "she might be the one" *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Tell me about your new *****.
That everything I'm not *****.
That "I like her a lot" *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Tell me about your new *****.
That got me speaking in cliches *****.
That I hope she's just a phase *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Don’t date people who drink coffee.

But especially don’t date people who claim they love coffee
then drown it in sugar and cream.

Those are the ******* that will break your heart.
They claim they love coffee and then they manipulate it
until it’s something they can tolerate.
They don’t love coffee at all. They like sickening sweet sugar water.
They like pretending to love coffee.

The sort of person who goes to Starbucks every morning and demands a
Venti,
Non-Fat,
No Foam,
Sugar Free with extra ice and three pumps of hazelnut
is the sort of person who will slowly find every quirk that makes you who you are
and destroy it to fit their lifestyle.

This year I'll bleed for better reasons.

I'll take a tumble after a night of drinking at the bar,
knees skinned and raw because I wasn't used to my heels.
I'll brush it off and let the blood trickle down my legs
as I stumble back home at 2 am.

I'll learn to hold my liquor.

I'll bite my tongue a thousand times and taste copper.
Whether silencing myself for my mother or my professor,
the friend who thinks she's always right. Or the *******
who's screaming sexist jargon.

I'll learn to pick my battles.

I'll cook myself delicious meals and the knife will slip
while I chop shallots and potatoes for my feast built for one.
I'll let my ****** battle wounds season the food and I
won't flinch at the thought of eating another meal alone.

I'll learn to love myself.

I'll pull the knife from my heart and back and wield them
like weapons fit only for my hands. I'll lick the blade clean
and scare anyone who dares try and harm me.

I'll never bleed for you again.
I'll bleed for better reasons.

I’m the sort of girl who drinks tequila out of coffee cups
and wears really skimpy dresses
and goes out partying all night
and kisses random boys in the dark

But I’m also the kind of girl who wears her hair in a messy bun
and reads Jane Austen when it rains
and enjoys watching documentaries with my cat

But I’m also the kind of girl who likes slamming beers
and putting on team colors
and cussing at the top of my lungs at sporting events

But I'm also a *** who sleeps until noon
and eats cold pizza because I don't wanna cook
and contemplates what life would be like if I were dead

But I'm not fitting in your boxes
And you hate that
And it confuses you
And I like it

Girls aren't one thing
Or another.

We're not the sun
And the stars.
And we're not the **** of the earth.

I'm not Alpha and Omega
I'm not Fire and Ice
I'm not Beauty and Grace.

I'm me
And she's her.
And we're not the same.

I can chug a beer while reading Frost
Or contemplate the meaning of life at a hockey game

I can be
Party Girl
Sloppy Drunk
Thoughtful Bookworm
Crazy ******

All of the above.
Or none.

I'm me.

Heartache is so unoriginal.
But you make mine feel special.

You made the hurt feel unique.
Like it was nothing anybody has
ever felt before.

We're all in pain
over the same
recycled tragedies.

But somehow you made mine feel shiny.
My breaking heart felt like something new.
My aching bones felt like a rebirth.

I wanna reward you for stomping on my heart.
Your foot prints on my ribcage are proof of living.

And we're purging to be pretty,
and smoking to stay thin.
Starving until our bones feel light as air.

Wearing make-up like a mask,
using clothes to advertise the goods, to
make the boys want us

Mistaking life lessons for soul mates.
Physically putting out and
emotionally shutting down.

And we're dumbing ourselves down.
Acting stupid because it's cute.
Hiding our wit because it's unattractive.

They want lady in the streets and
freak in the sheets.
But on their schedule, not yours.

But the lady has to be a *****
And the ***** has to be domestic.
It's a trap.

And we're used up
Washed up
Fed up
****** up

We're twenty something and giving up on the world.
We're twenty something and dead inside.
And taking it all in stride.