Too Old

I'm too old to be here.

I'm too old to be writing such angsty poetry about love and heartbreak and sadness. 

I should be turning a wrench and watching the news and sharing all my political beliefs on Facebook. 

I'm too old to be laughing at farts. 

I'm too old to be wearing basketball shorts when we go out to dinner. Too old to be shaving my head and growing a beard just to be different. 

I'm too old to be afraid of the dark, and afraid of engaging in small talk with the neighbors. 

I should be laughing with my teeth and offering firm handshakes and asking people about their families.

I'm too old to be stealing pens from waitresses just because they're Pilot G-2's and I really like Pilot G-2's. Although she did forget my second refill and she overcharged us by $2.

I'm too old to be listening to Drake. Too old to be dancing in front of the mirror. 

Too old for the heartbreak. Too old for the love. Too old for the sadness. 

I'm too old to roll my eyes when my mom won't get off the phone. 

I'm too old to do whatever it takes to avoid tying my shoes. 

I'm too old to be on Twitter. Follow me @WritersParis

I should be writing letters and answering the phone when people call and wearing socks with sandals. 

I'm too old for dreams. Too old to be real. Too old to tell the truth. 

I should be like the rest of them. Just punch my time card, laugh at the boss's jokes, and quit wondering what the hell I'm going to be when I grow up. 

I've already grown up. 

I've passed the age of first kisses and late night phone calls and my wife would never let me drive a motorcycle even if I wanted to.

I can't start smoking cigarettes now.