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48, forty eight
Another year
It ain’t so great turning 48
Your teeth done fell out
Everybody screaming what’s that stench coming from your mouth?
Or is it your ***?
Who knows but you stink and everyone is plugging their nose
It’s quite a combination of Ben Gay and Support ***** hose
Yep, you suddenly smell like the yoga room at the old folks home
When you turn 48 it’s suddenly surgeries galore
Broken bones and you can’t get up off the floor
The kids are yelling, **** you’re old
And you’re walking around in a blanket when it’s 80° degrees cause you’re always cold
Like a loaf of bread, your beginning to mold
When you turn 48  that’s old
It’s walkers with tennis *****, Garage sales, And haggling over a dime
You need to get a watch because you’re asking everybody if they got the time
You can’t wait for it to be over
You’re not feeling fine
Don’t forget to pay your life insurance or they won’t pay a dime
They’ll throw you to the vultures
It happens all the time
Turning 48 is like committing a crime
Finally

I am bigger
than the triggers
that trigger me.
My English teacher said
The opposite of love
Is hate.
But it's not hate,
It's apathy.
Hate still breathes,
It's fiery, raw, and real.
But apathy?
Apathy is a void
Where nothing's left to feel.
No anger, no tears,
Just empty.
So if you ask what's worse,
Hate or apathy,
I'd say apathy,
The silence,
The hollow space,
Where nothing is felt
And nothing is left
Between us.
If you ever feel,
Like you are an accident,
Just close your eyes,
And listen to the birds,
Tweedle-ee, tweedle-oo,
Hear the sway of the leaves,
Shhhhhh... shhhhhh,
Open your eyes,
See the blue sky,
The green grass,
The fresh air,
And remember,
You
Are
Loved.
Wanted.
Do not give up.
Keep pressing on.
I press on for the prize,
For which God has called me heavenward,
In the name of Christ Jesus.

You are never alone.
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