Love me not for what you see, my dear,
or for that which you can touch & hold.
For I'm not immune to the wrath of time,
one day, I too will grow old.
My mahogany locks will turn to gray
and my youthful glow will have faded.
My vibrant smile, like a flower, will wilt,
and once sparkling eyes will seem jaded.
My skin may look like an ill-fitting suit,
and gravity will cease to be a friend.
Wrinkles will devour my pretty face,
good looks just a memory, in the end....
So love me not for what you see, my dear
let what is unseen be why.
Love beyond what you can touch & hold,
for one day my beauty will die.
to a T,
detailed to the top,
pulled tight, finished off
with an Atlantic knot.
He walked... up the aisle,
through all of the mourners,
friends, family, & other people.
Till it was his turn to stand before the casket.
No emotion. Tight lipped.
He exhaled out his nose; without even looking,
he knelt. He prayed for what felt like all of his life,
but it had not even been a few days. He rose,
& then opened his eyes. He knew what he would see,
& then at last looked down ..into the coffin. ...This time,
He looked down. He looked down... at himself...
He looked down with a frown ..into a mirror; & its image laughed
so hard ...at itself
that it shattered
his whole world
So he smiled:
He let himself out.
He let go of being mad:
buried the shattered mirror.
He closed the coffin shut.
He mumbled something under his breath,
then turned & left, divided his audience once again,
put his hand over his heart, atop his single-breasted breast;
felt his heart beating ...till somebody screamed over to him,
asking him what he had just said..
He opened the double doors, then responded,
repeating what he had mumbled to the one whom asked,
to all of them: "..Not yet."
"I promise," he said to all of them now. "You all may leave.
I promise ...I have not given up just yet."
& then he left. The doors closed.
He was gone. He stood outside,
where it was quiet. Where he would
now face the world & all of its people.
He walked down the stairs,
stepped foot on solid ground,
stepped foot into the world,
as he left his nest.
He would soar as no eagle
or hero. He would tenaciously
have to run & fight, without wings or power,
as nothing super. He lived,
but parts of him died this day,
...when he tipped.. from fledgling,
& became.. a man.
As beauty does:
Don't mind the
On your chin,
Or the thinning spot
At your hairline;
And don't bother
Covering up that pimple.
You're too old for that stuff anyways.
Throw your mirror
In the trash
And let's drink some
Wine before we're dead
And in the ground.
Where there was something,
Now there is nothing:
A glade in the forest
Is all that remains.
The woodland of youth
No serum or tonic
Could Regaine* its flourish.
Sometimes, I run my fingers
Through the ghost
Of what was there.
I am, of course, speaking
Of my phantom hair.
One day, I looked in the mirror
and saw my parent staring back
Was it the gray hair?
A face more lined and wrinkled?
Or, was it the sadness in my eyes?
The anger in my furrowed brow?
I stared harder.
Had I grown into the hero? The villain?
I blinked and my parent was gone
Did I pass the exit to drop off my young person's clothes?
I could see the surprise in their eyes
When I turned round and said "Hi"
In my sneakers and pearls and a skull patterned swing skirt
I just smiled and twirled.
Does my face no longer fit my clothes?
Ahhh what the hell...
I'll rock this look and
dance to the beat
of my death knell.
What is it really like to be old?
Read along, and you'll be told,
Well, there's spectacles and hearing aids,
Also along the way, by the way,
There's dentures in glasses,
Zimmers on greys who want to make passes,
Then there's incontinence aids, bad hips,
Appointments at medical specialists,
Then you're off to the pharmacists,
To get all your scripts,
Then there's the alphabet song,
Read along, read along,
A is for Arthritis,
B is for Bursitis,
C is for Constipation,
Always a grey consternation,
D is for Diarrhoea,
And no doctor wants to know ya!
Finally, Z is for the big sleep at the end,
No wonder geriatrics go round the bend,
Yes, greys, these are our golden years,
Have fun learning, no need for tears!
Who will love you my lady?
When your breasts are on your stomach
When your arms are flabby and your hips are saggy
Who will love you?
You're aiming for the cutest guy in the room with no thought to heart or character
But there's nothing to be said about a boyish grin nor handsome eyes that are as guilty as sin
He is sculptured to perfection with no hint of imperfection
A man worthy and suitable for a magazine cover
But nobody can cheat time and only character will survive the ticks and outlive the tocks
Shall he love your soul as much as your body and appreaciate the fine lines and the elegance of the wife of his youth?
Look carefully through the room
who will love you?
Who will love you when you're grey and old?
Who will appreciate the dips when there's no longer curves?
Who will stick around when beauty flees and declare without missing a beat
"She is mine"
Twenty years and the birth of sound
Laid your name to rest
Forgotten and forlorn,
An artifact of years past
Supernova collapsed into itself,
Swallowing time and temperament
Perpetuating the past in an
Isolated pull of gravity
Your fame is facade
An actress in her greatest role yet
Maintaining character until the day
You’re taken away