Post-First Whiskey In One Long Year

There’s golden hour lighting every minute in California 

Which means I can see every new imperfection  

I’ve earned in the Florida heat 

Last night I stared at myself in pea green lingerie  

And frantically Googled “will men still want to fuck me if I have stretch marks on my stomach?”

Then a Twitter verified feminist retweeted some jab I made about guys who drink craft beer

and once again I felt like a fraud 

Since moving West, my mood has been stable 

But I’m going to the beach next weekend  

Which is sure to trigger an episode where I  

Drink 3 mimosas in fifteen minutes and make someone else’s birthday party

Entirely about me 

Whenever a man says he likes strong women he means a girl half his age

With a high threshold for horse shit 

Oh who am I even writing these poems for? 

All the men I love are watching TV with their wives.