Each smile a map, each line a trail,
Etched softly on the skin's embrace.
A journey marked in fine detail,
The story written on your face.
The laugh that danced around the eyes
Still lingers in a softened fold,
A map of moments, lows and highs,
A quiet story, gently told.
Not every crease was born from pain,
Some stem from joy that overflowed.
Expressions that we can't restrain,
Emotions that our hearts bestowed.
So wear these lines with quiet pride,
They are the footprints of your days.
A testament to life applied,
A living poem on your face’s page.
Time always tells no matter the canvas. When I look at others I can't help but notice their resting face and what it says about how they feel about their life.
We have earned everyone of our wrinkles. I refuse to try to make them disappear to look more attractive to anyone. If you can't see beauty in the life that I lived on my body then honey you aren't my people.