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the bathroom in the warehouse on vine

when i was
a tiny girl
i owned
a
strawberry
shortcake
doll

she blew strawberry scented
kisses
& was a
well loved item to
the child who
perpetually
held the toy in her arms

the innocence
grew into a lovely suburban mess
who vomited
collegiate prep margaritas

i memorized the astrological sign
matching birth date of my fake id
somehow that was irrefutable proof
to the bald doorman

colleen was a pisces

as i held my friend’s red hair
out of a stream of
ill chosen
strawberry schnapps and jagermeister
over a smeared bar toilet
with a transvestite
wearing a strawberry shortcake t shirt
doing blow off the tank in the next stall
i had a personal definition of irony

sixteen was a formative year

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