23 days less than 4 months from being 20 years of age. That makes me 19 and on the rise, being that the day has already begun, and I have been spared for at least 3 hours and 38 minutes past midnight. Age, I’ve learned, is merely indicative of the amount of years that one has lived atop the earth and managed to evade the grasp of the Grim Reaper: death’s persona.  But I wonder why people don’t celebrate this more? Take the tree for example, it doesn’t get this luxury. According to Scientific analysis, the ‘age’ of a tree can be determined by how many rings can be found inside of its center once it is chopped down. But by then, it’s usually too late because the tree will more than likely begin to undergo the preparatory advances necessary to convert it into commodities such as paper, lumber for construction, etc. …

Dooms day.

 In case I haven’t yet specified, I am not a tree.

But like a tree, I have no “say so” in my design.

 Cut me open, and you’ll find organs that help eliminate toxins from my body, others that help me breathe, pump blood, digest, etc.

Things that tell a story about my life to some degree,

But unfortunately, I’ll never get to see them,

As the tree never gets to see its rings.

Fortunately, though, I am still here.

So, because none of my internal organs can tell

My age like I can, don’t bother cutting me open.

And save us both the awkward dilemma of far-fetched cliché`s

 and motor-mouthed compliments

And just ask.

After all, it’s only impolite if you assume you know the answer

To a question that reminds me to give thanks…