Her
I see her every day; I don't always like her,
but sometimes I think I want to be her.
Not today... bags droop under her tired blue eyes
from studying all night
on the test that decides her future.
Today she is not what she was yesterday,
hiding herself under all that foundation.
Maybe a goth, maybe a nerd,
Maybe one of the In crowd.
Unsure of her true self, always dreaming of tomorrow.
Who is the old woman that stands here,
Frail and stooped as though shrunken by time?
Crinkled blue eyes that beam with amusement,
A wonderful adventure written in every wrinkle.
Her smile is permanently etched in her cheeks,
Each wild gray hair on her head a sign that she lived.
No more worries about what tomorrow will bring,
She surrounds herself with reminders of her past
and the stories that she tells to her grandchildren.
Only I know her secret pleasures and thoughts,
Only I know how she still feels 17 inside.
I have seen her every day of my life,
that confused child, this content old woman
is me.
Copyright © Rose Whelan | Year Posted 2016
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