when I was young,
either 15 or 25,
being 36 seemed so old
and so far away.
this October, I turn 36,
and I am same kid
that broke his ribs skateboarding
and wanted to be an artist.
I am not smarter or wiser,
but I have better jokes and regrets,
and all I can offer is stories,
some about knives and some about nights.
I am no longer writing from this secret shattered place,
my words on display for all to see,
and I consider myself lucky to write for a living
and publish weird, shitty poetry.
however, getting old is a thing
I never thought would happen,
and I ain't even old yet,
which makes me nervous for nothing.
I still hope to achieve
a quiet dignity,
even though I don't see that happening,
for I will die loud later.