You asked me to this party, but you don’t want me. You want the girl I used to be—smiling, laughing, bubbly. This is how I feel about life.
You asked me to this party to give me alcoholic drinks. Drinking is acceptable, it drowns reality.
You asked me to this party to prove I hadn’t changed. You think if you talk long enough, I will eventually want to listen.
You asked me to this party, but you don’t want my casserole. It’s too heavy; it’s filling. It doesn’t fit your theme.
You asked me to this party, but you don’t want me. You just want my face; the outline of my body.
You asked me to this party, to this never ending, empty dance. You seemed so surprised when my answer was, “No.” This is how I feel about life.
