Listen.
The drunk girls are so loud
when they cheer for us.
You know?
They're more excited
than we could ever be.
We are terrified to the bone.
Well, I know I am.
Though you fascinate me.
You don't need love, you found and lost your home.
Neither do I,
My old scars still sting.
I've fucked up.
We fucked up everything.
It's not all the girls,
just the ones that can't handle their cocktails.
Not the cool kids, who smoke,
drink pitchers of beer and
full bottles of vodka
but can still count backwards from thirty.
Just the ones that love me,
know what would make me happy.
I'm not incapable of love,
we just don't like it.
My ego wouldn't let me anyway,
my important sense of self
forever blocks the way.
Do you understand how perfect I would have this be?
It horrifies me.