Throwing some insults at happiness

before bars were illegal

there were darkly lit rooms and house music

slurred wit that never pulled men in

a Jane Austen novel, millenial-style

later I sip a vodka soda

picking up phone numbers

at my litte sister’s wedding

desperation sinking in

like it only can when you’re thirty

still renting monthly

pouring bitters into a boozy Friday morning

loneliness shaken, not stirred

happiness in a sub-plot you

didn’t get a part in, you useless actress

pretending to be strong and independent

code for: couldn't get a man to stick around

happiness is unlike

lipstick that gets in your teeth

at a wedding speech

where bitterness

seeps in

it ebbs and flows

and mostly

stunts my growth

a real grown-up revelation

in the bar’s bathroom you’re puking in