Girls Like Her Don’t Get Happy Endings

She wears her sadness like cherry lipstick,

smudged at the edges,

washed down with bottom-shelf gin.

She sits in the back of the bar,

stirring her drink,

watching the happy girls in their frilly dresses

laugh at things she doesn’t find funny anymore.

She used to be one of them.

Before the love that never stayed.

Before the dreams that gave up on her.

Before she learned that some girls

aren’t meant to be saved.

She finishes her drink,

puts on her coat,

welcomes the cold night

like it’s the only thing

that ever really loved her back.