• soulhouse 22w


    Thirty-three, you are here, unwavering
    unwashed, wiser.
    You are heavy, you are full, colder
     but you are warm.
    The double threes, a blaring siren,
    I am shipwrecked.
    Twice the hunger, the small mistakes
    I keep rubbing clean
    from the palm lines of my twenties.
    I feel the pressure, the thousand pounds
     of grainy milestones, passing my dock,
     sand pressing against my breath.
     The hour glass of my thirties
    So with the gripping clutch
     of a woman, I reach for the young girl
    shivering in her quicksand,
    I pull out a lighter,
    thirty-three wicks glowing,
    and I ask of her
    not to wish, but to be brave
    and build
     her own fire.