i'm turning seventeen in...hmm, seventeen minutes

sometimes i wish i was depressed again so i could lose some fucking weight

my life is ironic that way, when I'm

heavier i have way more sex than i do

when I'm thin.

so i guess it doesn't matter.

i went to pride on sunday in san francisco

and it was beautiful.

it didn't hurt that i was very very drunk

and ate half of every hash cookie

that came my way, but it was

still beautiful.

she told me she'd be there at one

at two-thirty she called and there she was

biting her nails at the jose cuervo booth

god she looked hot. her skimpy ocean blue top

and tight dark jeans

and ray bans

and that funny bird tattoo she got

in upstate new york when she was eighteen

twenty minutes later she's buying me a drink,

some smirnoff shit and we haven't really

said hello yet

do you wanna go meet my ex-girlfriend

at fulton and mcallister yeah, but

i'm gunna kiss you first

her mouth was a combination of

watermelon vodka and lip gloss

and her tongue was soft and warm

and i felt myself getting drunk as

she slid her hands along my back

and bit my neck

next i'm dancing with gay men in the middle

of the street and eating their cookies

and drinking their beer and kissing

their mouths and smoking their marlboros

when i want her parliament lights

which burn quickly but smell like

soft sex in a big green bed

like my stupid fingers struggling in her long hair

and now i'm studying the veins in her

hands which look like my mother's

i look up at her and she says that

my freckles are like hers and i touch her

like i know what i'm doing and she

whispers hot into my ear that i'm making her

sort of wet and i ask her where the nearest

motel is and she counts her money

and it's not enough and i have to go home anyway

so we make our final rounds

she introduces me to her ex-girlfriends

and then we make out in front of them

because we're stupid dykes but

she makes me feel selfless and renewed

idealistic and everything my mother

told me not to be but i'm not scared

she doesn't mind the rise in my brown belly

or the dead muscle in my yellowed thighs

and i don't mind her

farmers tan

i think that jesus would have wanted

me to feel this way

because he loves me and not

my sweaty pretty sins