Tipsy Poetry

It’s nearly 11, and I’m eating pizza.

I’m ready to go out, just waiting on Teresa.

I’m old and I’m tired and filled with regret,

but I spend $50 on this body con dress.

In 26 years of life, I’ve barely lived,

but I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve learned to forgive.

The pressure to be perfect is honestly tough.

In pics without a filter, I can look pretty rough.

I’m afraid to go out, cue my social anxiety,

can’t drink too much, say “I’ll have a diet, please.”

 

So many people have crossed my path in this life,

some have faded, some lost, some popped with much strife.

Suicides and ODs have ripped me apart,

my sweet gone friends live in the seams of my heart.

 

I don’t have it figured out, and I never will.

With each passing day, I’m not lonely at all, but lonelier still.

Not everything is perfect or impeccably timed.

The life that you’re given won’t always be a perfect rhyme.

 

But the love in my world, it seems to trump hate.

And however you exist, we all share the same fate.

So don’t be stingy with kindness or love or excitement, you’ve got plenty to give.

A text from Teresa she’s ready to go out, “ok lets go DLou, you just gotta live.”

 

 

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