I find watching myself age to be fascinating
New lines seem to appear on my face every day
And there is something indefinable there that reflects age
I try to remind myself of how, when I was young
I often admired the lovely beauty in the faces of older women
I didn't even see their wrinkles
Or if I did, they didn't detract from their beauty
But I look back in the mirror at my own face
And see only tired lines and flaws and drooping flesh.
But I do like the precious metal that is multiplying in my hair!
The streaks of gleaming silver against the dull brown.
But then the voice in my head that I call "Little Mary Sunshine"
Says: "You know they are that color because the hair follicle is dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead. All of you is dying, a little at a time.
You'll never be young again! You had one chance at life.
And you screwed it up!"
Then I say: "Shut up, bitch."
And I walk away from the mirror.