I hear them talk about me.
****.
This wasn't my first rendez-vous
on the rumor mill.
Because boys and alcohol
make a problematic equation
especially when you add
booming music and dancing.
I've made the same mistakes before
with lips and backrooms.
But I know better,
I tell myself.
I knew better
than to kiss necks on dance floors.
But I fell for it,
I fell for the liquor in my veins,
for the music thrusting in my ears
and other places too...
I've done this all before
with the same
"what the ****"
on my tongue
and regret in my eyes.

I hear them talk about me:
The girl who can't control herself,
her urges.
****.
Maybe if we locked the door,
I wouldn't have to walk around
avoiding eye contact with everyone
wondering whether or not they saw me
and which half they saw.
I knew better but,
it's simple math
boys plus
alcohol plus
me equals
what keeps the rumor mills alive.