a poem a day for a year #338

by Amy Turn Sharp


The thing is, we're all going to die and since I've started worrying about this fact more and more, I think I turned on my midlife crisis button. Just stuck my hand down my throat and flipped a switch. I want more now. Things I didn't even know I wanted are falling from the sky. Watch out, I may grab your hand and make you go in filthy bars with me. I could pull you into a car and drive south. I will possibly keep you up all night. To make matters worse, I'm not even sure what my life list looks like. It has a lot of black and red pen marks on it. I feel heavily edited. I can't read it all. I just want to take out my magnifying glass and see it like a scholar. What am I supposed to do? Is it possible jump out of a cake still? Can we do all the things? Do you want to see me spin? Where the hell is the future? We are all the same. Just tell someone how you feel, they'll probably take you in their arms right there and dance with you.