26
Subway lights blur the morning face,
Coffee cold, another 9-to-5 race.
Rent check due on the 26th, same as the year,
Folding dreams into a drawer, labeled “hold dear.”
Met a friend for ramen, said, “How’s life been?”
I laughed, “Fine,” but the steam hid the screen
Of bills stacked like a mountain, and goals in the rear—
26, the age of “almost,” but not quite “here.”
Hear the city hum a tired song,
“You’re supposed to have it all by now, right? Wrong.”
See the mirror, a stranger stares back,
With lines drawn by deadlines, and doubts in a stack.
This is the year the map starts to tear,
Between the “shoulds” and the “what ifs” we bear.
Oh, twenty-six—just a number, but it’s the weight of the air,
The rent, the stress, the “who am I?” that lingers there.
Twenty-six—letters in the alphabet, 26 years to learn to stand,
To trade old fire for steady hands, in a world that demands.
This is the age of “figuring it out” with a frown,
But I’ll take the chaos, wear the crown of “not yet down.”
Old roommate moved to a coast with a view,
Said, “Life’s better when you’re chasing the blue.”
I stayed, for the job, the routine, the “safe” they praise,
While my heart’s postcard reads, “Wish you were here, in a daze.”
Scrolled through feeds of weddings, promotions, new cars,
Felt a pang, then scrolled past—just another star
In the galaxy of “perfect lives” I don’t belong,
26, learning to mute the noise, sing my own song.
Hear the clock tick, a countdown to “more,”
But “more” feels like chains when you’re knocking on the door
Of a self you barely recognize in the glass,
So you fake a smile, and pay the cost of “pass.”
This is the year the mask starts to slip,
Revealing the kid who wanted to reallyflip.
Oh, twenty-six—just a number, but it’s the weight of the air,
The rent, the stress, the “who am I?” that lingers there.
Twenty-six—letters in the alphabet, 26 years to learn to stand,
To trade old fire for steady hands, in a world that demands.
This is the age of “figuring it out” with a frown,
But I’ll take the chaos, wear the crown of “not yet down.”
Sat on the roof last night, watched planes cross the sky,
Thought of the 26 letters, and why
We tie ourselves to “success” like a rope,
While forgetting the joy in the climb, not just the slope.
Maybe 26 isn’t about having it all,
But learning to fall, then rise, without losing the call
Of the dream that whispered, “Start small,”
Not “win big”—just “live tall.”
Oh, twenty-six—just a number, but it’s the weight of the air,
The rent, the stress, the “who am I?” that lingers there.
Twenty-six—letters in the alphabet, 26 years to learn to stand,
To trade old fire for steady hands, in a world that demands.
This is the age of “figuring it out” with a frown,
But I’ll take the chaos, wear the crown of “not yet down.”