independently:

1:25 AM

I am still a waitress.

I am still proud to be one.

Come Monday,

(not a moment too soon)

I become an actual adult,

with an early to rise job

and a late to arrive paycheck.

I am celebrating. Again. And again.

I continue to assume

reciprocal stalking

to the way I keep up.

Despite my skill of running away,

I am still in Chattanooga.

I am still single.

I am still single in Chattanooga.

Yes, I have lost weight.

No, I didn't go on some crazy diet

or much less,

get any kind of surgery.

I didn't just dye my hair red,

unless yesterday was New Year's eve.

I want to be vegan

(as soon as Greek yogurt releases its hold one me).

I practice effective comebacks.

I squander appropriate situations.

I am still (half-heartedly) scrubbing off

last weekend's color fun,

and looking for another excuse

to run

(before I notice I no longer have one).

I live in a chalet.

I consult Pinterest.

I am so Zombie-ready it's sad.

I don't want children.

I want nieces/nephews/Youngs.

I am strong in the arms,

but weak in the knees

to silly things like candy words and promises.

I am getting old. Fast.

I am reckless with who I let into my life

and even more so with who I let stay.

I am not afraid of anything

except maybe that I've wasted all my good stuff,

trust, patience, hugs,

on the undeserving,

with very little reserve for the

Godsends.

I have yet to pass a test

on the back-breaking lessons I've "learned"

and with each passing day

worry

that when it most counts

I am reduced to

mush.

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