#thirty
Twenty eight years,
I’ve been on this earth.
I haven’t met a promised soul,
Never known the love my favourite songs give birth to.
I did it all,
Just as expected, just right.
Still I am met with rejection,
Cold dissatisfaction every night.
I can’t find love,
I can’t keep a job.
No matter how hard I polish myself,
I still feel broken, flawed.
I am not good enough.
I’ve heard about what people call leeches,
Those who never work a day,
Always pointing fingers outward,
Blaming the world and walking away.
Am I that?
Did I become some good-for-nothing ghost,
A burden dressed in human skin,
Trying hard but failing most?
I always said I couldn’t see myself past thirty.
Maybe it was childish fear,
A young mind unable to picture
Wrinkles, wisdom, passing years.
Or maybe it was something darker,
A window cracked into the future,
Showing me these slowly blooming,
Sharp and terrifying truths hereafter.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 2:05 PM UTC
Thirty arrives like a quiet room
you didn’t mean to enter.
You look around—
half-built dreams,
names you never became,
time suddenly loud in your hands.
It feels like the ending.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 4:17 PM UTC
I turned thirty
two months after you left.
The cake from my sister
sat on the counter too long,
icing stiffening like old paint.
Someone lit candles
and someone sang
and I tried to remember
how birthdays are supposed to feel.
You used to say
thirty wasn’t old—
that we were just getting started.
You said it while folding laundry,
while brushing your teeth,
while planning trips we never took.
Now the house echoes
with ordinary ghosts:
your mug in the cabinet
with the chipped blue rim,
a sweater on the back of the chair
that still remembers
the shape of your shoulders.
Everyone says words like
strong
and healing
and time.
But time is strange now.
It stretches in the quiet mornings
when the bed is too wide
and the light through the blinds
falls on the empty side
like it’s waiting for someone.
I keep thinking
I should have noticed something—
some small crack in the day,
some tremble in your voice
I could have held together.
Instead there is this:
a life paused mid-sentence,
your name still saved in my phone,
and a man who is thirty years old
standing in the kitchen at midnight
holding two mugs
before remembering
he only needs one.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 5:24 PM UTC
To: Mr./Mrs. Divinity,
cc: HP
every now then,
like once-a-day,
🫤
you collect new voices,
and make me scream
so-way-out-loud,
*a new poet, an original voice,
that screams read me,
my way of expressing my self,
Is special,
Is unique,
and Dear Mr./Mrs. Divinity,*
let me summarize thusly,
ThanK
YoU,
for this day's
sun,
and,
new voice I'm hearing,
and touching my
feelings,
your organized chaos,
now mine, shar-ed,
just like a good new
poet
hallelujah,
should…
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 1:19 PM UTC
A week ago, I saw the doc,
He sighed and said, "You're done."
His gaze was sharp, his mood was stock
Of doom that weighs a ton.
According to the doctor, who
Did the tests - left me in rage -
And I can say, he did a few,
I now have reached a certain age.
"Congratulations! To the grave!
Your warranty's expired."
He squinted, acting bold and brave,
And jotted, uninspired.
Now, I'm not old, I'm still alive,
Mid-thirties, barely used!
He acts like I cannot survive
And I'm not even bruised.
"This number's grim," he softly spoke,
And slid the labs my way.
"Prepare for cracks and brittle smoke,
The slow decline's display."
This sentence left me in a rage,
It brought me close to tears.
If I have NOW a certain age?
What am I in ten years?
Will I then be fossil folk?
Geriatric garbage, yes?
A day away from my first stroke?
A muddled medical mess?
A certain age? What does that mean?
I am just mid-thirty!
Yes, I know, I'm not eighteen,
But I'm still strong and sturdy!
A certain age, what does it say?
I'm only halfway through.
A ticking clock that won't obey?
A joke I never knew?
A certain age! - Oh, should I laugh?
Who was I consulting?
I am more than just a graph
Or number! That's insulting!
A certain age! Doc, **** yourself!
I count myself as young,
Now go, read books from your big shelf,
While I show you my tongue!
As long as I don't smell of mold,
Nor creak with every step,
I'll dance defiant, young and bold,
Not ready for death's debt.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 1:45 PM UTC
dear basil,
this isn't about christmas,
though i hope you have a good one.
this is about crying.
or more like
how you don't.
i would say i don't want you to
but i know you.
and your eyes are my eyes.
so i need them to cry.
if they won't cry for her
let them cry for me.
cry for the me you lost
cry for the you that you can't find
cry for the person in the mirror
who doesn't ******* deserve this
because you don't.
YOU DON'T ******* DESERVE THIS.
just because your bruises are healing
doesn't mean that your skin is okay.
it's cracking.
you're cracking.
break open.
love,
basil
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 9:52 PM UTC
Oh God, here they come
thirty to fifty wild boars
I’m quite stunned
so I slam the door
and look for my gun
which isn’t there anymore
the liberals took it away
not because of bullets sprayed on concert days
but to make me gay
which is why I hid my AK.
Thirty to fifty wild boars are attacking
while my children are in the yard
I can already see their bodies stacking
without an assault rifle to guard
so I find the weapon I’ve hidden
and say to the swine good riddance
the assault rifle made the difference
it’s not just a recreational interest.
Wild boars have only killed four people in US history
because they’ve been plotting
so to me it’s no mystery
these wild boars I’m spotting
Are terrorists
that share a fist
with liberal wrists
so I must defend my country
with assault rifle hunting.
These razorbacks
find ways to smack
those who firepower lack
leaving destruction in their tracks
their leader is wearing black
he’s the harbinger of doom
wielding a scythe
like a broom
to show me eternal night
in my tomb.
My armor piercing rounds
defeat the rotund hounds
their bodies fall to the ground
my family is safe and sound
but that’s not enough
my survival was luck
I go to the government for change
to get weapons in a deadlier range
because my assault rifle can **** thirty to fifty wild boars
but what if I’m attacked by thirty to fifty more?
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 12:02 AM UTC
Thirty
by Michael R. Burch
Thirty crept upon me slowly
with feline caution and a slowly-twitching tail;
she waited three decades for the winds to shift;
now, claws unsheathed, she lies ready to assail
her defenseless prey.
Keywords/Tags: thirty, age, aging, maturity, time, creep, creeping, ambush, feline, predator
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC
At this age
I still haven't figured out
how to become the life-connoisseur
everyone else has seemingly become
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 4:35 AM UTC
Like diamonds, we sleep in a soft repose,
Where we dream of slipping past the wandering souls;
Numbing our swollen hearts in glass and stone,
No more clothes, no more clothes
Making love with the stillness of the night
As the stars overhead flicker so, so bright;
Tracing the pattern of my spine,
Running out of time, running out of time
The sun pops from the sky,
Scanning the field of dreams where our love lies;
Written in the imprinted lines,
Saying goodbye, saying goodbye
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
It might be painful
It might be disdainful
It might be lightning
It is so frightening
Could be the thunder
That has my number
It could be Jesus knocking
concerned about my mocking
It could be my future
or my lack of culture
It could be those fried reasons
maybe it's Jackie Gleason
It could be the hollow
that always seems to follow
me into the night
so black without any sight
It could be a light
from my star at height
tumbling through the heavens
or bread that is unleavened . . .
All I know is it just happened
while I was here just napping
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
Thirty day's, I'll be free
In thirty days completely
Leaving the beautiful but familiar
The only anchor I had
The scenery and family.
Thirty day's till I can start new
Be who I am, Finally true.
This city and these people
A creativity sapping flu
Thirty more days
Until I can be true.
Now,
New belongings
New beginnings
New friends
New surroundings.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
When you’re thirty, you’re supposed to know
things already. You’re supposed to have
your **** together. A wife, maybe
even a kid. But this man still felt
like a boy. Shrugging life away
with cigarettes stealthily
torn from the box,
afternoon breaks
whistling through the
scabby throat, weeping silently
into his cigarette, smiling empty through
the golden tint of a pitcher of beer. Sadness sat
in his eyes and it never seemed to go away. The sadness
made him look younger, more innocent. He thought no one noticed.
But someone did.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
Its always there, in the back of my mind.
Not like anyone cares
Not like I care much for it either
But its always there
A desire, like a craving for something sweet
A want
A need
It pulls me in sometimes
It wont leave until its satisfied
It never is
I wont allow it
It makes me think
It keeps me sane and aware
It breaks me down and eats me inside
Id be confined
I would be left in isolation, away from those who believe in the illusion of safety
I wouldn't stop at just one
I couldn't have a limit once I begin
Why stop when I have already started?
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC