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adult

Barely A Man

Reflection is a difficult thing for people to accomplish.
Defeating our self denial is a great challenge for most.

Jack rants about adulthood, being a man, age, maturity and more.

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I’m no man. Barely a grown child. Immature. Unaware of what I want from life. Not even sure what life really is. Confused on a regular basis, hoping to one day know, perhaps understand, why I feel the way I do about the things I do.

I won’t hold my breath.

Been wondering if I’m doing life right. Am I successful? Am I accomplished? Could I be doing more? Should I just because I could? But why? To what end?

Might consider wearing a suit and tie to jump around like a monkey for money. That might make me a man.

I own a successful ever growing business. I’m my own boss. Make enough money to throw half of it away into meaningless garbage and still have bills paid, but boy do I love video games and dodging responsibility.

Understanding and thought out, but cold and unconcerned. Am I disqualified?

I’m probably republican on paper. Guess that’s it? That makes me a mature adult?

Can’t be a man. Don’t even know what a man is. No more than a 27 year old kid.

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Desperate Thinking

Many of the major struggles we deal with as adults are internal. And they surround the perpetual identity crisis the “adult experience” turns out to be. Some of our worst demons reveal themselves to be a major part of our identity.

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In the back of my mind the grind stays in line
Shows up on time
Thick sludge slime drips off ass it goes by
Slow drive
No life, it chases faceless cries
Whines stalking hated ties through crooked lies
It takes or it dries
Created illusions for desperate tries
Feeling asleep still hoping to die
Never real, but always alive
Never bad, but always a crime
Chiming the rhymes of evil
Slides off the tongue perceiving
Fires burn the homes
Screeching iron melting down
Reaching into hollow grounds
Spinning, churning, twisting round
Molten lava leaking out
The creaking shack is splintered, brown
No sneaking in without a sound
The bleak still ring it sings resound
Trapped inside with screams and shouts
Rotted corpses stand about
Mules and horses on propaganda routs
Burnt alive behind the eyes
To all the rest I stand here fine

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