21

this is not a poem about me turning twenty-one

but rather, my friend

a beautiful, wild soul

who lives life with no fucks given

I was invited to share in the revelry

and, 5 shots of vodka later

squeezing lime juice onto my tongue 

to dull the burn

bingeing on cupcakes

and getting really personal 

with friends on door stoops

at 2 a.m.

you have a scarf tied around your head

you are dancing wildly to Coldplay

and it is beautiful

besides the little white lines

(which you didn't partake in)

you end up falling asleep on a couch

at 4:55

and it humbles you

because, for a second

you can see yourself 

doing exactly the same