Twenty-one pages.

People, please, as you read this
Take your worries and throw them,
Because there is nothing wrong,
As I gather along.

Twenty-one is not a bad age,
For it is merely a page,
Of a grand stage
A million words in the making.

To be young and spry,
Okay, spry is a lie,
But hearty, farty
Jovial too,
These are great traits,
And I hope they never leave me.

So here’s to twenty-one,
My poem sucks,
I break all the rules… I fuck up all the conventions,
But screw all that stuff,
I shall not acknowledge
The words of idiots at college,
Who decree this or that,
About what I should do,
I’ll listen but not follow,
You are not me and I am not you,
Let me make my own choices.

I fear about my path,
What to do and such,
For it all I’ll take a bath,
And remove all that smutch,
It’s my twenty-first birthday,
I'll have a lonesome party.

Thus I am on the twenty-first page,
Of what might be an average novel,
But I’m licensed and all,
So let me say,
F*** you all!
And let the drinking take me.

‘Vitrum Nostrum Gloriosum’