A poem

anna breslin
Jun 2, 2018 · 2 min read
Henri Matisse


I am covered in days and years.

Lines below my eyes,
carved by decades
of thoughts and smiles.

My body has been decorated.
Scars from falls,
encounters with doctors,
stitches from when I was hit.

I have lived inside words
and dreams,
while life has been
changing me
with it’s impact,
eroding blooms,
deepening the roots
of my beliefs,
the ones that work,
the ones that don’t,

Age may be nothing
more than a number,
but my body
has a different opinion.

Years have gone by
fast and slow,
inside, I am the same
as I ever was.
I let the days go by,
and life keeps happening
all over me.

I wonder if the cool I think
I can hold onto
is a delusion of middle age.

I fear frumpy, fatigue,
losing my edginess,
which, for all I know,
died in the last century.

Gray I can live with
because dying helps.

I have avoided all types of repair,
scalpel, lasers, Botox.
I hope gracefully aging is real.

Even if I cannot hold onto cool,
or the appearance of youth,
I hope I never grow foolish
or forget who I am as I continue
to collect days and years
all over me.



a medium collection of my poetry

anna breslin

Written by

One of those rare GenXers. Writer. Life un-hacker. | Find me @https://annabreslin.com | writeannab@gmaildotcom


a medium collection of my poetry

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