Is that how it is with birthdays?
Counting down the years between
then and now, birth and death,
a footnote reminding me
that with each day I am
closer to dying
than the one before.
See how time is peeling off of me
the little girl I used to be?
Look me in the mirror,
look as I get older and I do
not continue to bloom.
Soon enough the process
will reverse itself and
I will collapse inwards,
the veins on my hands
popping out from where
my skin has sunken in.
Watch as time breeds inside of me
the old woman I’m soon to be.
Counting down the years between
then and now, birth and death,
a footnote reminding me
that with each day I am
closer to dying
than the one before.
See how time is peeling off of me
the little girl I used to be?
Look me in the mirror,
look as I get older and I do
not continue to bloom.
Soon enough the process
will reverse itself and
I will collapse inwards,
the veins on my hands
popping out from where
my skin has sunken in.
Watch as time breeds inside of me
the old woman I’m soon to be.
