About a year ago, I wrote a poem called twenty-eight. Well, this year I am twenty-nine and the world is far from perfect. Was discussing with some friends about what is frustrating for our generation in this day and age, and well, here it is.
twenty-nine and almost thirty
life is one long road, often dirty.
find a job to save some dough
then it’s paying bills, school loans you owe
twenty-nine and splitting rent
and if you don’t, money is spent
on food, electric and a car to drive
to get to work, to stay alive
Those houses you imagined
with their little white fences
is another lost dream,
in the mountain of expenses
Just for a moment, you’re almost there
then you break a bone, on crappy health care
the road is dirty at twenty-nine
but all the refuse, isn’t mine.