Aging

Aging

I drag myself out of bed with heavy legs,

And shadows beneath my eyes.

I creep forward, bowing my head over a basin,

Afraid to meet my own gaze

In the mirror above.

My hands shake, as I humbly try to lift my face;

Nothing has changed

But my skin is no longer familiar of my own.

I still look on with the same imperfection,

Carry the same scars to remind me of my flaws.

My voice is the same—I still mumble when I talk.

I speak words no different than before,

Same cadence, same stutter, same fear

But the mouth from which they depart

Is no longer my own.

I still live in the same isolation

And bury my emotions deep within—

Still quiet when I should feel the need to speak.

But the gaze looking back at me is not my own—

I died today before I first woke up;

When I took the first step out of bed

My new life became real.

The identity that was once me

Exists no longer.

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com

DannYetman