I’m turning 24 this year,

Yet I still struggle to talk to the boy I fancy.

I’m turning 24 this year,

And I still don’t know how to iron clothes properly.

I’m turning 24 this year,

But I still can’t park without hitting a bumper.

I’m turning 24 this year,

and I still struggle to remember recipes.

I’m turning 24 this year,

Yet I fawn over unattainable and fictional men.

I’m turning 24 this year,

I’ve loved and lost,

And have yet to find myself.

But perhaps life is beautiful as it is,

whether I’m 24, or 40 or 55,

Perhaps I will always try to find myself.

And one day, I will find myself seeing the skylines, looking downwards only to see how far I’ve climbed.