What It’s Like To Be A Stripper In New York
I tell my mother I am a cocktail waitress.
I tell my mother I am a cocktail waitress.
When we forget a name, we are admitting to a lack of interest in the person, on some level.
When you feel like your world is ending remember that the world itself does not stop. You have to keep going.
Your Barbies won’t make it out alive.
I’ve come to realize that the world is a drag queen and there is no stopping her. Because:
All said and done
Sitting in the insatiable silence
Awaiting the feeling in my legs to return
I taste the bitter ambiance
I look around at all the happy couples in my life and sigh. What do they have that I lack? Am I just not good enough? Not pretty enough?
You’d love me, and I’d love you just the same. Our love wouldn’t always be sunshine and kisses in bed, it would be messy, trying at times—but it would be imperfectly perfect.
You give life meaning.
Your hailstorm left me bruised and beaten. A whirlwind of painful welts, my once porcelain skin was now stained black and blue.