party

Staring at the mirror and knowing

that she could

so easily

slip.

She likes the letting go

and the bravery

and the party.

She likes people wanting her

(who doesn’t)

but she likes the jolt before

the touching hands

and the way the girls

just grab hers,

rest their heads like it’s nothing.

Flirt like it’s nothing.

Kiss like it’s nothing.

And maybe it is.

Can’t it just be playing?

 

She feels the pull,

the dangerous addiction to excitement and numbness and nothing.

Poetry

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