Conversations Among the Ruins

I am not the sort
for a glittery dress and
curls in my hair

on a packed floor
somewhere - at an
expensive dinner table

somewhere, with a
drink in my hand
somewhere

for when it turns
midnight again.

I've never been impressed
by cheering or
fireworks, and I actually

don't like noise - especially
when made
by paper products

assembled in a country
I never learned about.

I don't like parties or
crowds as they make me
uncomfortable.

For the new year I
worked
myself

stupid. A five hundred
dollar night, not the best

but not bad.

I saw all sorts of people -
bored people, happy people,
people that couldn't
believe where they were and

who they were with. People that
bitched about tuna and
people that were beautiful and

well dressed and fancy,
with real smiles.

My job is a window
into my very own world.

I cannot stand
New Years Eve. I got

beaten up
pretty badly one year
and so I make sure I work

so that I can forget
about the hope I had
for that night, and about

what really happened.

Like I was just a teenager
in a glittery dress
with curls

in my hair.

This morning my feet
are covered in blisters

just the same
as they would be

if I were that girl
instead. The past is void.

It actually doesn't matter.
None of it matters.

What matters is my inept
ability to feel

the things that got dressed up,
trashed, and high over feeling

for my entire adult life.

(Adult. Had to think about
that for a second.)

My feelings matter,
the past does not, and

sometimes, on a roof top
staring silently at fireworks,

I choose to just be grateful
for my own still silence
in a yelling crowd

that I can feel
at all.