Poetry Galore

Her smile is bright and fake

So is her hair

Her skin gets darker at night, her lips redder

She looks less like herself, but more like her Instagram pictures

Faced pressed on, smile held up by glue 

She rambles and she knows it, moving her eyes quickly across you

Not wanting to stay too long out of fear of identifying what you might be thinking

I catch her dancing with herself on a stool, swaying side to side with her eyes closed and her drink melting in her hand

I catch her rushing building to building looking lost and a little scared

We walk into a packed room with her in the center

“Oh, you must know Lily then?”

“So you go to school with her?”

The common denominator in the room, floating about, starring in group photos, and taking shots with each ensemble of people

“Everyone seems to know you here!”

“None of them really know me,” she says looking at her mixed drink, the cup with lipstick smudges on the ridge, painted nails almost piercing the plastic

Suddenly she’s in a new conversation, reaching her neck across the table, her painfully straight hair almost sinking into a champagne bottle as she nods her head up and down before throwing back another and screeching