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.