I exist.
I am twenty years older
Than twenty-nine.
I am not
Invisible
Nor did I
Dissolve when
I turned forty.
I exist.
I am one
Of millions.
We are not
Invisible
Nor did we
Vanish when we
Turned forty.
We exist.
We’ve been
Kicked and ignored,
Shamed and judged,
Inconsequentially consequential,
Deemed too old for the media’s
Ideal demographic,
But
We are
Ideal.
We exist.
We are childless
And child full,
Mother Earth and a
Mother of pearl,
We yearn
And cry
And hope
And nurture
And dream
And grow.
We exist.
Underneath the
Sophisticated silvers
And wrinkles of wisdom
A little girl gleefully glows.
She scampers
Through the dewy grass
And twirls around and around
With her arms open wide,
Her palms facing the sky,
As her pigtails and ponytails
Stretch out straight from spinning.
She never disappeared.
It’s time for her
To play again.
It’s her time
To shine.
She exists.
Together we consume our
Four tea and fifth tea
And sixth tea
And beyond.
I am enough.
We are enough.
We exist.
We are
Beautifully
Seasoned
Formidably
Authentic
Plentifully
Savvy
Wise and
Worthy.
We are
Invincible,
Not
Invisible.
We
Exist.
