Poetry

To Anya on her 30^th birthday:

Hey.

You.

You with the imagined big tattoo of 30 across the face.

Not thrilled about being here

Believes somehow that the tattoo is visible to all

and that it perhaps means something.

Comparing yourself to others

who seem to be somewhere ‘better’ than where you are now

At 30.

You see, that 30, isn’t your 30.

Because someone else’s life isn’t your life.

These are the constructs of someone else.

These are illusions, not relevant to anyone, unless you’re comparing yourself to the arbitrary and meaningless.

For if you’re lucky enough to reach 30

you’re lucky to have made it at all.

Chances are you’ve seen some that didn’t make it

And those that didn’t make it in one piece.

And the sooner you realize that your dreams

do not fit into the perspective you have right now

because they are not arbitrary things

you will find out that you are not an arbitrary thing

defined by a number

because you can’t be. 

Because on this day

the universe brought you into being

 a light to shine on all the world

with gifts to give

Nothing less than amazing.