A room doused in too much glitter,
and not enough space-
the glitz sucked up the oxygen
and left the crowd gasping.
Herds of young girls laced up in chiffon
and brocade popularity cluttered the stage
and waited for the party city tiara.
Boys hid in the back corners
with fingers gripping flasks full
of calculations, back seats, and testosterone.
Prom is the one too many girl that stumbled in
and crashed the after party.
She littered every spot with confetti, nerves
and slurred speeches.
She asked for forgiveness with coarse lace apologies,
and fast tempo excuses.
Prom is the lipstick stained collar, smeared mascara
and sharpie scribbled phone numbers in the bathroom.
Prom, an event so full of sequined expectations
that the crowd tripped over the dance floor
and the weight to grow up so fast-
almost too fast,
which left the night asking morning
to hold its hair while it spewed out poor choices.
Poetic Trials 