I write posts in my head
but they don’t make it to the keyboard….
they leak out of my brain
along with payments due
and grocery lists and
lyrics I thought I would always remember.
Age is a funny thing.
I never cared much about my age…
I always felt younger than what the numbers
on my license add up to…
but lately, I see changes I don’t like…
a flabby neck, weight that gathers quicker
and stays longer, deep lined creases
that go beyond smile lines.
And mostly….I am ok with that.
Mostly I am ok with me.
But some days, I feel an inkling of fear,
trailing me, tracking me…
whispering what if you are always alone….
or is that what you really want?
(and I don’t know the answer)
52 is starting to feel like
the awkwardness of 15 again.
I don’t know how to dress my age,
I don’t know how to be me anymore,
I don’t know what this me is supposed to look like.
I don’t know what she wants to look like
because she is fickle and undecided and
happy as can be and yet painfully lonely,
content and positive but scared as hell in the middle of the night….
some days she wants to move to the country,
get some power tools, dress only in overalls
and let her hair get as long and tangly as it wants
while she goes around with dirty bare feet
and paints everything purple
and polka dotted.
And some days, she wants to drive away from everything
and cover the rear view mirror with thick black paint
so she can never look back.
