cliché of a forty-year-old-mother trying to look 16 again.
No thank you. That’s not for me.
I’ve got some living under my skin, sad lines, and happy ones
and pounds put on around tables overflowing with friendship and laughter.
I never wanted age to harden me or my heart
I always wanted to be the kind of woman a friend could open her soul to
a child could sink into for comfort
and a man could grab on to for dear life.
No thank you, popular-girls who are over the hill now
I do not want your thighs or your men or your designer sunglasses.
No, instead I indulge in my own deep contentment;
not bitter, not wanting, not comparing
My spirit and my heart have known one another for a very, very long time.