i sit alone all night and watch as the
cars cross the bridge in rhythmic cycles,
i’m bundled on my couch under layers
of paperwork and half a medium pizza,
planning a summer trip in February.
i watch 4 episodes of the Walking Dead,
write a masters paper on Neoliberalism,
and call my mom to celebrate survival.
i live another week as a mid 20 something
who owns a Yeti cooler, a bright pink vape,
and a terrible personality to match.
is this what growing up looks like? i wonder.
i FaceTime my friend who bought a house,
another who lost a bet shaving his head for fun
and it is… to be this old and this young,
because either your friends are getting married,
or they’re sleeping with a CTV actor named Donald.
i don’t think there’s a point where this adds up,
the wave of maturity dances on our sore backs,
now it’s paying property taxes, it separates recycling,
goes to bed at 10:30pm sharp with a longer hangover,
meal preps for 7 days, only to order Uber Eats again.
you told me once there wasn’t a textbook for all this -
so I guess like my poems i just have to wing it.