Growing old,
I am scared of losing my mobility,
Becoming incompetent.
Afraid, afraid of myself,
When I cannot even make a cup tea,
Sitting by the window in a wheel chair,
Looking at the grey sky,
The stench of a soiled pamper unbearable,
Waiting for somebody to help me.
How could I hold onto material things,
My pride and ego,
When I will be unable to balance a spoon or glass,
And when I drool and spill food on the floor,
My own glaring at me,
A burden.
Anxiety sets in the core of my bones,
When the day will come,
I will have to depend on my children for a glass of water and other needs,
My calls falling on deaf ears
Me a nuisance.
I pray the day does not come,
And if it does,
It does not take too long.
7/12/2023