I find myself watching old music videos and I flashback to when I was nineteen
and in college, when I thought I knew everything and I speak
about the world in chapters and verses as if I have seen
it all. Now I am in my forties, and I wish I had foreseen
how I had focused on the details, and I found myself lost in every critique
instead of grabbing onto experiences and adventures. The routine
of my youth was full of semi-truths, naivety and caffeine.
Now, I find myself listening to the whispers and how my bones creak
and know there is a story in every snap. I mean
my bones aren’t breaking, but I just need to lean
on objects a little more when I walk. I am not weak,
but I need a few more minutes to reach my flow and my scene.
Everyone tells you when you are young that your thoughts are obscene
and ill-informed, and you spend your youth searching for the new and unique.
You almost lose yourself in the in-between
and when you finally find yourself older and no longer a teen.
Poetic Trials 