The other day I turned 25. I spent the day reflecting on where I am and where I thought I was going to be. To be honest, I'm not at all where I thought I would be. In school to be a librarian in Philadelphia? There are three things wrong with that previous sentence: school, librarian, and Philadelphia.
I figured I'd be in NYC or Seattle or Chicago either doing something within the publishing industry or a neat non-profit or making money off my writing. All longshots but 25 sounded so old I figured they were possible. Sadly, I was wrong on all accounts. I still feel like a teenager but not doing as much stupid shit. Though I have gained a decent amt of weight around my midsection to negate that previous statement.
So I decided my goal of being 25 was to try and write a poem (no matter how awful) every day and to work on speaking in large groups whether formal or informal.
Today's Poem:
Mortality is a funny thing.
Here one day
Gone the next
POOF
Like magic
But without the laugher
(bear with me, they're gonna suck for a long while)
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