Too Old/Too Young
The stained glass lamps say that I’m old
Too old for this year
Or the next
Heart too old for this young age
Or the next
Pin myself to the cork board on my wall
Where I can be looked at clearer.
About to run out of money
So I write myself a poem
Something in there about
not knowing a damn thing about
making money. And there it worked:
500 dollars was just sent to you
By First Bank of Poetry.
Oh and then there’s some remembering
To do. I guess it’s cause I got sad
In some kind of love and drunk. But I ain’t about
To run out of money soon
Ain’t about to be a different
Person either. Just the same
Badass millennial shithead soaked in coooll
Looking at my phone checking the weaaather
With my shoulders and tongue.
Too young, too young.