The Last Party

Honestly, I didn’t really want

to leave after being seen,

but swathed in cotton paper

thin skin, and absent any

accompanying friend,

I felt powerless to stay,

vulnerable, naked, afraid,

especially without wine’s

numbing, warmly comforting,

sparkling glow of social charm,

the kind I didn’t have to put on,

also the kind there’s no filter on,

not to mention the kind decidedly

done.

So instead, isolating alone,

mocktailing and hiding shyly

behind my phone, anxiety

spiked my mind and laced

my awkwardly constructed

smile when approached

by well-meaning community

blinded to my overwhelming

self-judgment, self-consciously

directing encounters to mirror

me: forced, fearful, and fake.

Social living without libations’

lubricants can sometimes really

chafe.