Saturday night
It’s Saturday night and I’m at home
I’ve been sitting for a while, alone
my hair is a mess, I’m barely dressed, it’s been a long week of nothing but stress.
I hear the doorbell; I walk downstairs (this poor delivery driver is going to catch me, unawares).
Just my luck, he’s a curtained Zeus, he chews his gum and looks bemused at this mess before him.
Crippled with shame, I have myself to blame, climbing the stairs in my Era’s t shirt (my stomach starts to hurt).
It’s Saturday night and they’re all so excited
to go to that party, to which I wasn’t invited for whatever reason. Guess it’s just not my season. I tried all I could, I texted them all but they just can’t fit me in, doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
It’s Saturday night and they’re just too tired, to have to see me, they must be inspired. Guess I’ll try again next week; to myself I’ll speak.
It’s Saturday night, but nearly the morning
I’ve spent the last few hours, just yawning.
What a fun weekend!
Can’t wait to do it all again.
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