Maybe I’m ready to have a good time.
I’ve earned these belly rolls.
I’m old enough to stop apologizing for doing things for my comfort alone.
The 43rd anniversary of my birth is in 8 days.
Maybe I’m ready to be my own home.
I’ve paid a few dues.
So I’m old enough to not care if the family that I was born in has any idea where I live now.
I’ve traveled around the sun close to 44 times.
Maybe I’ve seen and done enough wack shit.
I’ve earned these scars.
Therefore I’m old enough to decide if I prefer a shabby apartment in a warm climate over fancy digs in a cold one.
This winter will be my 44th winter on earth.
Maybe I’ll be nicer now.
I’ve traveled thousands of miles alone, who knows?
But I’m old enough now to accept that the number of people that you love has no bearing on how many love you in return.
I’ll be 16000 days old in June of next year.
Maybe this time I will get it right.
I’ve earned these patches of gray hair.
Which makes me old enough to go where I want, write what I will, be who I am and do what I like.
I was a billion minutes old 12 years ago…
And yet, I’ve never felt so fucking young.
Maybe I’m okay now.
I’ve never felt so wide open, inexperienced and brand new.
Maybe I’m okay this time.
Even though I am curious, so curious
about how long it will take and how old I will be
when I finally run out of excuses for being me.
Maybe I’m ready to change now.
I’ve come this far.


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