The older I get
the more I feel it
the slow and
constant fading
vibrant colors graying
my orbit decaying
spark of life dimmed
So I talk a little louder
a little too much
to underscore my words
never quite reassured
that I am still heard
And I draw my face
a little dramatically
eyes lined too dark
lipstick too bright
to calm the fear
that I am fading from view
invisible to you
And though I hardly feel it
I must trust that
I am not disappearing
I am still relevant
I am still here
Be proud to be aging. I see beautifully dressed older woman and admire every wrinkle. A lovely write. Thank You and welcome.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Rhona, such a brilliant write👍👍👍