The Bitch Is Back

“Drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, danced like a madwoman. This means I had a good night.”
You can tell when you look at my outfit. There’s a map of stains and smells that show just how good a night I had. Make up on the neckline of my top from applying foundation drunk. Dents in the padding of my bra where inquiring hands poked and said “My goodness, they’ve grown!”. You can still smell the vodka on my jeans where I spilt it, trying to down three measures diluted with one measure of orange. The top stinks of perfume from air kissing, bringing in close the people I hadn’t seen in over a year. All these seventeen year old girls in one room can’t be good. The hormones were insane. The perfume was worse: everyone wearing a different one and coming together in close quarters to ensure that by the end of the night we all smell like we’ve been in the dressing room of a stripper. I’ve got purple stains all over my top: toasting with full pint glasses of cider and black whilst dancing. Laughing and comparing French teachers. A couple of ash stains on my shoes from when we stopped to smoke and discuss the last two years without each other. Even my skin and hair didn’t survive the barrage of smells and sights: a small cigarette burn from the Krazyhouse, marks up my body from unwelcome fingers.
A good night is not measured by how wrecked you are, but by how wrecked your clothes are the next day.

is it wrong to reject a guy at age 17 based on what your kids would look like?

i think yes but apparently i'm alone in this...

No one's asking to go dancing, it's not like that anymore,
It's romantic if they mean it when they shut your fingers in the door,
It's a gory sort of story that's been told a hundred times before,
It gets tricky don't be picky if the slipper fits you wear it whore.

How many tips can I take home tonight without them getting mad,
How many stitches do you think it takes to fix a cut that bad,
How many minutes until midnight and you get your eyesight back?
Not to knock it I've been off it never moving very much at once.

It's been awkward, I still offer it when its that time of,
Other girls shower but I give out flowers,
To curious strangers who throw dollars at my feet.

How many crimes can I try spotting dry before it leaves a stain,
How many times say that I love you til it doesn't mean a thing,
How many fittings must I sit through with my big feet blistering,
How many times until it strips me and my big mouth strikes again?

I'm not asking to go dancing I'm not that dumb anymore,
It's exhausting to keep smiling when your toes are bleeding on the floor,
It's a gory sort of story that's been told a hundred times before,
Don't be sorry just ignore me because honestly,
I'm too sore from fitting exactly to ride into setting suns aching to stand on my own two feet.

How many wishes do I still have left to fix the way it ends,
How many princes do you it takes to put a girl like this back together again,
How many instances can you point out when I was less than kind,
How many happy endings do you need to change your fucking mind,
And how much time do we have left before it's midnight and,
You see that I was never the right size?

just says it all right now really