Happens To Other People

You notice a line on your face.

It’s faint and thin,

As if someone swiped a pencil across your forehead.

It wasn’t there yesterday.

It will probably be gone tomorrow.

Aging happens to other people.

You feel a pain in your knee.

It’s dull and only aches when it rains.

You believe it’s from over-exercising,

Or maybe from an awkward movement.

It will heal soon.

Aging happens to other people.

You find a strand of grey.

It’s mixed in with your auburn waves.

You initially think it’s just the lighting,

But you pluck it out and see its color.

It’s only one grey hair, you tell yourself.

Aging happens to other people.

You hear your test results.

The numbers are off the charts.

Your doctor urges you to change your diet.

She says you need to exercise more.

You think that’s what they all say.

Aging happens to other people.

You try to catch your breath.

The air feels hot and thick as it creeps down your throat.

Your lungs seem like balloons unable to inflate.

The burning sensation amplifies in your chest.

You reason it’s all from a summer cold.

Aging happens to other people.

Face lines

Don’t let the lines on her face distract you:

They weren’t carved by age.

They were chiseled by curiosity and wisdom,

By mistakes and triumphs,

By pain and joy,

By fear and enthusiasm,

By great loves and unforgettable losses.

Her age is a number;

Her lines represent everything else,

Her story,

Her life.

From “You, Me, Us”


You attribute her success to her looks,

In school,

In work,

In gaining friends,

In everything, really.

You believe it to be a compliment,

But your foolish utterance sends her spinning,

In a funnel of self doubt,

Second guessing:

Her intelligence,

Her talent,

Her hardwork,

She questions everything,

Except her current aesthetic,

But even in that, she loses confidence,

Because she knows beauty withers,

And when it crumbles and turns to dust,

Will her success do the same?

From “You, Me, Us.” Find it on Amazon.