YOUR PARTIES
I don't like your parties
with your cool people
and your stylish ways.
I don't like how they look me up, down,
and side to side,
and it's like they know
that I didn't have a date in high school
- unless you could that cousin-thing in ninth grade
- and please don't.
They peer past the reasonably mature facade before you
and recognize only the imbecilic eight-year-old
that my soul sees.
I can't talk at your parties.
They're too loud, too strange.
The guests are too foreign
to my experience.
I don't like it.
I can't handle it.
I can't go.
I'm sorry.
I don't like your parties.
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