When I speak of youth,
I do not mean the wrinkles under my eyes.

I refer to all the moments
That are so far away-
The scents that I can barely taste.
It’s all foggy now;
My skin is baggy now


How come they never told me
How quickly
You are no longer
Young
The world you were presented
Is no longer the real one
&all the cards you opened on Christmas
Are covered in script
From hands that are long gone
When I speak of youth
I speak of sunshine in the afternoon
The whole world feeling brand new
I speak of 90s movies in the living room
My moms hair
Spilling out of a clip
A Virginia slim
Hanging off her lips
She sits on the porch
With her legs crossed
I lay in the grass
After a bad round off
I look up through the branches
&see a cloud that looks like mountains
My brother screams heads up
As a football pegs me for a landing
I sit up and cry
My mom gets the ice
My brother says to breathe
That itll be alright
I blink the tears from my eyes
And when I open them
You’re a thousand miles away
I’ve got a 30 year old face
And my son looks just like you
But in a different way
It’s been years since I knew you were okay
I miss you everyday

Destined; your eyes are painted out as the map of life; as no night
convinces my tomorrow to look away from the destination you
inspire me to take- your love is a buried treasure, and my words
mark it with an X;- not as the many exes I once treasured in the
promise of a forever after [it was more of a pipe dream]

As it goes on, this art of falling in love; I’m only now getting
a grip of the bigger picture;- it’s larger and larger, swelling up
my eyes, to as always be blinded by love- the lovebug’s bite,
so smitten, but squished by childish designs; us as children
imagining our perfect kind of lives, when we used to play house
Packed away hopes in an imaginary bag; let a night open that
suitcase- to imagine ourselves living together until our ages
are much visible in our own hands

Those firm and beautiful kisses, get ruined over many soft decades;
as the trace of my fingertips, feels like cheap clay on your skin-
My warm regarded touch, fills your cheeks in chill of morning breeze
When you fail to see your reflection, once from the shyness of
your lashes eyes opening;- where you can only hear someone else’s
voice reading through the Song of Songs. Our time together, is all
destined to be gone- so let’s enjoy what we have now, for how
long it comes

At 0 one sees the universe in the womb
From the stars above to the ancient tombs
Eating what mother finds best for us both
Everyone hasn't met you, yet you still bring hope

From 1 to 5, you learn to survive
Stay away from that stove! Don't run with that knife!
Mommy seems tired and daddy always plays
But just say the magical words and you'll always have your way

From 6 to 10, everything is sudden
You start school; you try to be cool
You're no longer allowed to get your clothes muddied
And you won't always need mommy when you go to the pool

From 11 to 12 you start fearing high school
Final years in primary, getting closer to your destiny
You start seeing crushes, as you drool
And wonder what's so cool about that word you learnt "******"


13, standalone, a bridge between know it all and human
Running around before the arcade closes to join your legion
Pimples all around, hair growth is profound
You seem a quiet kid, yet around crowds you become loud
Everybody judges you, and your crush won't play your games
You seem too deep into school, don't bunk? You must be lame!


14-16, From the bitter to the "sweet" 16
Depending who you ask, it's the best years of your life
Though many say that about your 20s
Missed an opportunity? There'll be plenty.
Comfortable being uncool, you're just a teen
You don't need others' opinions or their strife

17 to 18, from youth to young adult
You start hating your friend group, it's all their fault!
Why were you a blabbermouth? Keep your words in the vault!
Slow to speak to a crush, but overexposing like a bolt
Everyone already applied. Should I take a gap year?
Nobody is saying goodbye. Why am I in tears?

19. Might as well not even be a teen
Your back hurts, your spleen,
Uni said No, and college is pricy
I'm playing with my future. This is getting dicey.

20, never smoked, drank or kissed
Everything here seems amiss
College is for adults yet this feels like extended high school
Lecturers complain students flirt with them, students complain lecturers are on them
Who's lying? Who's right? Why does that one kid always wanna fight?

21, almost there, special year, conquering fears
Grandma died? I might have to repeat?
Passed the module but granny passed away
There's still so much I wanted to say
This isn't about me, I have to get payed
Too much is on the line. I'll get off my seat and wipe my tears
21! You're an adult now!


22-24, Graduated, got a job, I wouldn't know much about this field
Many say you grow into it, others say you never yield
Alcohol still tastes bitter, a high school crush keeps in contact?
Maybe I truly am better off. Lost friends and family, but I'm still intact


25, the frontal lobe developed
My ideas have finally enveloped
Many at this age are married, have kids, even grandkids
You sit at home, can't afford your own, you can't open the mayo jar's lid

It is amusing to consider that this is regarded as a quarter of your existence.
everything changed, and you stayed persistent
Birthdays don't matter anymore and you can do whatever
But you're old now? And can't chase childish endeavours.

Run it back. Where did we get lost?
How much would it cost to do it all over again?
To apologize and hug that friend
Tell that dead relative that you're sorry
Tell everyone your story
Live a little, once more

We count time but don't know what we count
We feel time's flow in the sun, moon, and stars
And see it passed in our flesh and offspring
But without knowledge nor awareness if it is
Forward, backwards, circular, or not at all
Or if a second prior or after, is, shorter, or longer
But only the everlasting, now, past, future, illusionary
And time, the same as times, and so too half a time

When I kick the bucket
I want it to be proper rusted,
zinc exposing steel.

When I kick the bucket
I want it recognisably mine,
a signature rattle.

When I kick the bucket
I want it made into a planter.
I want my bucket to bloom.

I play by the rules day in and day out,
Showing my class, wielding my clout.
I take the hard blows time and again,
Knowing my patience shan't be in vain.

Joe's on the ropes, all by himself,
Waiting around to be dumped on the shelf,
Restraint is my friend, as I pull back and watch,
Those flailing wild jabs I so easily dodge.

There's one rule to fighting, it's Biding your time,
Showing him up, using his dime,
Keeping ones cool, letting him dance,
Then all in one motion - destructively prance.

There's rhyme to the reason for the 12
Rounds to be,
So everyone knows, all clearly can see,
The prowess of one, the demise of the other,
An abject defeat, no spin as a buffer.

The guys just a has been yet I'm giving him grace,
Watching him flail, not setting the pace,
The fun's in the waiting, a matter of time,
For him to fall over, his crown to be mine.

Mumbling, stumbling, inaudible rambling,
The pity, the pain all but Biden now feel,
A spent man bereft, resorting to grumbling,
The fishing line out for opponents to reel.

How did we now reach this insufferable place,
Where a once wily Joe spun his fine web,
Enticing, enveloping with street gotten grace,
His mock Irish banter making folks fall in step.

The ravage of age, that indiscriminate scythe,
Lacking compassion, blind in its grasp,
Cutting down poppy's both lowly and high,
Never once stopping to ponder or ask.

So it falls to the man, with loving advice,
To know when to pen those few final chapters,
Leave it too late and it's a roll of the dice,
A legacy lost and good name in tatters.

Blind pride a sheer folly at most times in life,
Obscuring the path that shows us the way,
The one to traverse with safety not strife,
Avoiding its grasp, not falling its prey.

Country the goal before lowly ambition,
Wisdom and service the call for each day,
This is America's greatest tradition
The foundation from which no leader should sway.

The bright summer sun warms my skin

instead of energy, it puts me to sleep

Gone are the days, id run and play

And the joy i wish i could keep
  
  The smell in the air is nostalgic

Of a memory just out of reach

Not sure if its real or i dreamt it

But its of one i can no longer see
  
  Is the laughter from my past a real sound?

Or something id wished i had heard?

Memories fade so much with time

And recalling them seems so absurd

   You havent been here for a while

These memories keep coming in waves

Feeling so lost yet familiar

Something i cant get back or replace