20 Days

Twenty days until I turn thirty six

Is this the prime of my life?

Soul searching for clarity

Intrusive thoughts spin out and spin me up in misdirection

Google served as a sobering correction

36 is not a prime number

To believe in a lie would be a sublime

and a supreme waste of time

But yet the thoughts linger and tickle the back of the mind

The words sit and dangle at the back of my throat

And. They. Won't. Come. Out.

20 days

This page is nothing more than a empty stage

These words, bit players in a monologue deranged

The lies continue to press upon me with their incessant and irresistible rage

20 days

You're not good enough, I hear on the inside of my outer mind

Too skinny, too small

No one wants to reads these things

These words, the lies I've been forced to endure

And the panic that almost nearly seems to ensure that I won't make it

Until I fake it

20 days

My goal was to be the best that I could be

To have my words be the truest part of me

I believe I have succeeded in that goal

No matter how desperately the lies try to extinguish the poet's soul

In the dimming night now

Awakened by the penful light that is the only way that I can see now

To be prime is to be alive

That'll have to be enough

This truth breaks through the intrusive haze

It is a blessing to be turning 36 in twenty days