I turned 31 years old
and this will be a memory
for when I am fifty.
How strangely I will see these
words, the hopelessness that
comes out as I read it again.

The midlife crisis, I believe,
more than the need to get laid
by a younger woman over a
new car with a lid that pops off
is the feeling that
things I am proud of are
outweighed by the things
that I regret, that this path
will continue and I will only
wish for death to calm the horrors
of Medicare.

I can't see the forest
because the trees are crashing
around me and the grass is greener
on the other side because the
grass on my side
is currently on fire.

I am hoping for a job that
will pay me more money as opposed
to one that will give my life joy.

I have given up on the dreams that
nestled me to sleep when I was
younger.

I do not know how sad that sounds
and I guess that is what makes it
all the more deplorable.

That several gifts were given to me
yet do to my acts and past
they seem like obstacles.

The scariest moments of my day
are when my imagination is taken away,
my ability
to create, to run my hands in
the clay of my head and
create another David or even a
Burt

I am a cog for the wheel
and it makes me stutter-step
tears back into my eyes as
I hit the keys and hope for tomorrow,
pray for it and wish that it will
not hurt as it did today.