Am I attractive to you?

Or do you just like my sense of humor?

Is it my never-ending questions and curious mind?

Or how my legs look under the sun?

Whatever it may be

It's a trap.

A beautifully constructed and strategically made trap.

My large eyes tell you pretty white lies.

And my words touch you warmly inside.

Just like a shot of liquor.

A burning sensation at first that is quickly followed by waves of warmth

that spreads throughout your chest.

It's bittersweet.

Because you know it's bad for you but it makes you feel alive and less alone.

So you continue to drink it and wonder how.

How did one shot turn into four and then you find yourself waking up on the floor?

I guess that is why they say

Drink Responsibly.

Celebrations. Balloons. Cakes. Banners.

All are things celebrating me.

But no matter how much icing there is on top of the ice cream cake or however many "Class of 2023" balloons dance with the wind outside of my house,

I will never feel full. Or proud. Or Satisfied.

I will convince myself that I didn't do enough. I should've been better. Doesn't matter what it is, I should've been the best at it. All of my sleepless nights that came with dark and puffy eyes, were not enough. Even after getting the entire lower half of my face reconstructed, cut, sliced, and stitched back together again, it is not enough. Enduring extreme waves of depression and manic episodes that consisted of impulsivity and self-sabotage, it was never even close to being enough.

As I stand tall with a cap on my head surrounded by family and friends,

I hold it all inside.

Because I know that there is still work to be done.

And work cannot get done

If I am standing still for pictures and cutting pieces of cake to share.

I must get back to work.

I must be on top.

Because I am afraid that if I'm not...

Then I will never truly be seen and appreciated by the only two people I want to please.

My parents.

I will work endlessly and tirelessly just for you to be proud of me.

Even if it takes everything inside me.

Even if that means I lose myself a couple of dozen times in between.

I am willing to sacrifice until I have nothing left to give.

So if you could do me a favor, please.

Freeze the cake and deflate the balloons, I have work to do.

Hopefully, by then, I will feel worthy enough for them.

What is it about that bourbon?

Is it that it tastes divine?

Does it allow you to let out a great sigh?

Or is it because it runs down your throat smooth?

Does it make you feel like you have nothing to lose?

I wonder what it is about it

That makes the hangovers so bearable

Even when the consequences it brings are usually terrible

I wonder what it is

That leaves you lusting for more

That makes you do such a great pour.

There is something much deeper than its taste

It is everything else about you that you try to erase

Everything about you can be revealed by just one drink

There is so much more depth to you than what most think.

Whether you see your glass as always half empty or half full

You're always dreamful

And a handful

All at once

And it is beautiful.

Just like a glass of bourbon

Rich and sweet, but also realistic and raw

Everything all at once

You leave me in awe.