A poem dedicated to the spine
You held me up
To see over the shallow end
Of this month's masquerade

Learning to sound out
The year I was born

I wanted it to be the year
The follow through
Getting things done
To carry the verbs
Left alone in my veins

But dealing with odd numbers
Made it redundant to get around
Getting answers from
Words that end in "y"

Instead I arrived
On the year of the blanket fort

Where weekends were too slutty
And the most spectacular thing
Was learning how to pretend

But who can tell really tell the difference
Between being alone
And feeling lonely
When it is easier to hate everyone
That is exactly like me