I've reached the point of middle age
Where comfortable is all the rage.
The sexy heels that said I'm hot are now the flats that say I'm not
That pre-pubescent boxy bod is back again, and just as odd.
I have no butt, my waist is huge.
I dress with lots of subterfuge.
I don't fit into normal clothes
Lots of shifts and panty hose
Tweezing, bleaching facial hair
Lining lashes that aren't there.
Styles in vogue when I was young now demand a steel pierced tongue
How did things come down to this?
I cough or sneeze and have to piss
Episodes of flashy heat and bunions on my SWollen feet.
All in all it's not so bad
I laugh it off and don't feel sad.
Hot is hot, we're meant to be
At twenty-one or fifty-three!
Share This Poem