A year and a half ago
I’d been a barista for five years.

“Luck” fell into my lap
And now I’ve been apart of
The white collared community for almost a year.

It honestly feels fake.
It honest feels like a lie.

The only time
That I feel like my true self
That I feel like my comfortable self
Is when I’m five beers deep
And smoking a cigarette
All alone
And acknowledging
That a year and a half ago
I was happier in most ways.