You’re sitting on your mother’s couch,
Wearing your cozy and oversized pyjamas,
Stuffing popcorn into your face,
Escaping reality through TV shows.
Depressed and 29.
You should be at work,
You should be head of this, and executive of that,
But they cut you loose.
Your glowing honours degree could not do enough to save you.
Retrenched and 29.
Your gold credit card is a door to an empty treasure chest,
Cleared of all it contained to help you survive.
Your debt is mounting higher than Kilimanjaro,
And you’re starting to wonder if you’ll come through this month alive.
Broke and 29.
Your social circle has virtually disappeared,
At least there’s one friend in your life who is still near,
Who still laughs with you and cheers you on,
At least all’s not lost.
Life and 29.
Your passport is unused,
Looks as brand new as when you first got it,
You’ve never set foot outside the four walls of this country,
The high expense has always been the bondage.
Untravelled and 29.
You loved him and were with him for five years,
Until your heart grew apart from him,
With the longing to go on the journey of your destiny,
Single and 29.
You’re asking what you were created for,
You’re asking whom you were created for.
Your vision board is becoming clear,
You’re en route to becoming more of yourself.
Purpose and 29.
I think, dear millennial, that you’ve got your shit together.
*image from Pixabay.