Thirty

Thirty.

11:59 rolled into 12:00

I feel no different

But it’s all changed.

I’m no longer a young dreamer

A sweet faced ingenue

The world cares less how I feel

A new demographic

Irrelevant. Outdated

An old system in need

Of an update.

Thirty.

I didn’t feel myself change

I didn’t mourn the dreams

That must have shriveled within me

thirty is not for dreamers

do I dream

did I dream?

Was there ever a dream?

Or just an idea that sounds nice

In my head?

What if the sum of my youth

Adds to nothing?

What if my whole existence was a lie?

I’m not a genius

Or an artist

I don’t know what I am.

Yes I do.

I’m thirty.

Happy fucking birthday to me.