I remember vividly,
Thanksgiving, 1999.
I asked my mother
for a sip of her wine
(Pinot Grigio).

She hesitated, then laughed,
and let me press my small lips
against the rim
of the long stem glass.

The cool liquid
stung the back
of my throat
as it went down,
and I furrowed my brows
in disgust.

"Why would anyone drink this?"
Adult laughter erupted
around the table.

I didn't smile.
I wondered what they knew
That I did not.

Flash forward.
Present day wino
with a strong preference
for red
but a known policy
of indifference.

I enjoy it now.

But every once in a while,
I take a sip
that stings the back
of my throat.
And as I furrow my brows
in disgust,
I remember
That I still don't know
anything.

Anna,
the young lions won't want you
forever.

Eventually you are going to
get tired
of keeping it tight,
of batting your eyes,
of applying the gloss just right.

Anna,
what will you do when the invitation beds
come to an end?

Eventually the lions will settle,
while you gather cobweb and callus,
while you smoke cancer and wallow in cellulite.

Anna,
find a boy who makes you feel like the sun.

Ultimately,
he's the only one who can save your soul
from all the crimes you've done.

The day is near
The one where love overcomes fear
Where nobody is meant to shed a tear
But that's not for everybody this year

"Oh boy, Valentine's Day!"
All the kids seem to say.
Is it normal to be at home,
On a day where you're not supposed to be alone?

Is it normal to remain in a bed,
With no significant other in my head?
Is it normal to have my hand on a controller,
Rather than in someone's hand?

Valentine's Day is meant to be filled with love!
Everyone is meant to have a white dove
So why is it that I can barley find someone willing to give me a hug?
Well at this point, I'm better off just going for a tug.

Valentine's day isn't meant for everyone
And unfortunately I'm nobody's ***
So I'll just lay in my bed
My pillow becoming well acquainted with my head.

can
       i  
         even
                                     complicate
                                               your
                                                    breathin­g?