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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2200647
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Health · #2200647
A Poem about growing old
I look down at my hands, they’re shriveled and rough,
And reading small print is proving to be tough.
My left ear is failing and I’m half deaf now,
And the lines are getting deeper right above my brow.

I’ve lived a life full of trauma and pain,
And quite a few times I’ve literally gone insane.
I turned to drugs and alcohol to numb everything,
Which landed me in the hospital’s lonely west wing.

Not once, but twice did I almost die,
Time to gain control of my life, I have to try.
Because my family forbids me to go anywhere,
So I promise from now on to handle me with care.

I quit pouring poison down my throat each night,
An updated model of me is in sight.
I no longer wake up weak and sick to my guts,
I no longer think about me, now I think about us.

I know my body’s getting old, but that’s not how I feel,
This aging nonsense is just so surreal.
So, my dear family, there’s no need to fret,
This woman’s not going anywhere,
I’m not done yet.
© Copyright 2019 R. Engels (beckamay at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2200647