The age when achievements are framed upon the wall.
9-5 is held with pride, as you lock your mortgaged door.
The lines around the eyes don’t fade when smile ends.
The wedding bells are ringing for a handful of your friends.
A brunch without the booze then submit to bed at nine.
A career drenches dreams as duty fills your time.
That’s not me..
I’m sitting on that picket fence, unsure of where leap.
Peter Pan with pen in hand, odd socks encase my feet.
Dreams are strung to melodies, in art my heart beats true.
Yet on this day, thoughts are plague by duties overdue.
Could I leap into commitment and oblige a 9-5?
Or be bankrolled by my pen, selling poems to survive?
That picket fence does not make sense, the hell with my degree.
This Birthday rhyme pledges I will tether to my dreams.