Maybe it was mountains
Instead we drank our way to something
Of bravado
Feats of intoxication
And instafame
Telling stories we’d lived
We thought they couldn’t be lived again
And so we stepped into our late 20’s
Hearing mirroring stories form our
Middle aged colleagues
When I stepped into a poetry class
I thought I had an edge
That i’d lived
That the love I’d lost was real enough
To be worth something
This was before Bukowski,
McCourt, Hamill
I have nothing unique to say
But still I say it
Because it finds its way out
Eventually
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
Maybe it was mountains
Instead we drank our way to something
Of bravado
Feats of intoxication
And instafame
Telling stories we’d lived
We thought they couldn’t be lived again
And so we stepped into our late 20’s
Hearing mirroring stories form our
Middle aged colleagues
When I stepped into a poetry class
I thought I had an edge
That i’d lived
That the love I’d lost was real enough
To be worth something
This was before Bukowski,
McCourt, Hamill
I have nothing unique to say
But still I say it
Because it finds its way out
Eventually
