Bones, Boobs, and Booze.

Bones, looking at my skin you could see them urging to pierce through.

Boobs, they missed out on my younger years, a myth I think they were.

Booze, the one thing college kids can’t live without, I’m living. 

Becoming a woman I stopped settling for ice cream on a rainy day, and started settling for the ten minutes of solitude that make my problems go away.

I snatched away from my parents and felt embarrassed when they tried to hold my hand. If I could I’d go back I would.

Holding onto them and losing any sight of responsibility. I’m totally adulting now.

Bones, are less potrusive. 

Boobs, are more realistic.

Booze, still not old enough. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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