Adult as I’d Ever Want to Be

My life is mostly challenges–
nascent me, afraid to attempt,
youthful me, conquering triumphant.

Now, adult as I’d ever want to be,
bored, spiteful, loathsome,
and in dread of loathing.

Childishly clinging to want of novelty,
efficacy, beauty born from my own hands,
and beauty to help all else be borne.

These conquered challenges
won’t stay conquered.

How many ways
can you say:
“have a nice day”
before it’s done?

Before the tongue goes limp,
before it tastes stale,
before your soul throws up,
runs screaming into the night,

before you die, or,
more importantly,
before you get plain bored.

Daily poetry postings for your perusal. Scraps of intelligible thought Frankenstein stitched into a fabulous existential quilt. Feel free to talk poetry or philosophy with me--always interested in conversation and creation. >

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Posted in Poesy

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