Another year, another set of worries.
Long hair has permanently become short
because genetics decided to punch you in the face.
Those ten pesky pounds are persistent,
they wear out their welcome
like an aggressive fat guy at a house party.
Old has become new, except for you.
You didn’t heed the warnings.
You scoffed at your elders
as they spoke of the inevitable.
They told you your heroes would get old and die,
they said your youth would get recycled and bastardized.
Now here you are,
history’s repeated bastard.
Not quite 40, yet far from 30
is a tough break in the 20s.
Welcome to your Lates, old man.
The future is now.
The Follies of a Postmodern Xennial 