Reflections

by MissT

I don’t like my reflection anymore.
It lies.

That’s not the girl
with the sad smile and thick hair.
That’s not the skinny, bony-bummed carefree girl
who used to wander the streets without a care,
laughing with her mates.

That’s not me.

Some wrinkly, grey-haired grandmother
stares back
lines around her mouth,
creases around her eyes,
a sagging jawline.

How can Jenny from the block look so good,
when she’s older than me?
For goodness’ sake,
somebody throw the mirror out.
I was happy until I saw that.

Inside, I’m still the same,
no matter what my face gives away.
I don’t care if I can’t control my aging
I’m just glad I’m still here.

To hear my granddaughter’s sass.
To see my grandson smile.
To listen to my daughter’s dramas,
and to watch my son in love for the first time.

Age brings something I’ve never had before
wisdom and contentment.
I did okay.
I’m still here.

And I still love the bones off my family,
so happy to be part of their lives.

Age isn’t bad
it’s society that makes it seem so.

I like my scars,
and my stretch marks.
They tell a story.

And what a tale it is.