I don’t like the smoke,
just how it settles in—
a gentle fog numbing the senses,
a brief reprieve from life’s din.
Truth is, adulting! Yikes, that’s overwhelming.
Should one person carry this much pressure?
The expectations crush like a boulder to the chest,
can you breathe?
Like I wasn’t allowed to date,
but now I’m expected to marry.
No guidance on how to select,
how to dine, not even how to appreciate with flowers,
you know the simple things.
But they’re saying take a knee, what’s taking so long?
So I puff, you sip, they sleep around, it gossips,
but who cares? Life is hard enough already.
I’ll do whatever to get through.
Ain’t like nobody really cares anyway,
and I don’t really know why I even do this.
I’m sure when I wake up tomorrow,
it won’t make any more sense.
But I’ll do it.
Why is adulting like solving a constantly changing Rubik’s Cube?
Just when the way forward is clear,
life adds new dramatic dimensions to the stage.
Like shifting pieces, rearranging the puzzle,
leaving confused, searching for a solution.
We’re a medicated people, unable to explain the pain,
We drink, smoke, sex, or lie it all away.
Ahhh, there go the intrusive thoughts again,
Little whispers in my ear, taunting me.
Lemme find some shots and sleep it off;
tomorrow is its own day of trouble.
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