Natural Decay

I am tired of aging.

The vapors.

The pains.

The nuisances of aching bones—natural decay.

I say beauty before age.

It’s meant in jest, but its real.

Little girls don’t get it.  Big girls do!

Bodies and souls hurt, we weep.

Broken and tears swell making puffy faces—natural decay.

Assumptions teetering on the edge of wrinkles balance with wisdom.

I have compassion for the youth with so much to learn—natural decay.

But wisdom delivers an earned ticket, a righteous keepsake.

Mine are neatly kept hidden.

Later unpacking for overnight jaunts they peek out.

As quickly as they appear they get hung to see for all who come close.

Embarrassing shame of stained panties—natural decay.

My heart quickens when thoughts pour out during this day’s outing.

The only repacking are the ideas and conversations to myself—natural decay.

I won’t care if I pack the words to take home.

Perhaps it is best to leave them where they are.

The pains.

The vapors.

The aging—natural decay.

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