Ageing Like a Two Year Old.
Of course I have not found my voice yet.
It keeps changing
as life reinvents itself, changes, batters, bullies
twists, turns, journeys, jokes,
learns and leaves and leans and laughs,
At times I think I am in puberty, gray hairs and all,
unable to settle down properly,
too in tune despite trying to tune out,
hearing, feeling, understanding far more
than I am comfortable with.
Today I my voice is low.
Later it may break like a fourteen year old.
Tomorrow it may be as filled with phlegm,
Tomorrow it may be clear.
A few things remain, even as I strive to age well.
I am not sure I have.
I am not sure I will.
I seem to grow louder as I age,
not from going deaf,
but because I seem to be hearing better.
Like a two year old,
everything is new.
About this poem
Sometimes as I live here on the fringe of old age, I wonder if I am aging well. Other times, like a two year old, I don’t much care. Just throw the occasional temper tantrum and move on.