What is this age thing?
Numbers signifying time.
Judgments from society, from my "committee"
About the meaning of each new year?
Something to celebrate, to evaluate, to regret?
When did birthdays turn
From anticipated joy
To quiet dread?
When did I start to mark the years
With something other than gratitude?
To judge my body,
The changes in my skin,
The color of my hair,
Each new wrinkle, analyzed.
When I'm at my best, I remember
That each new year is a gift.
Each new day is a time to celebrate.
Each moment is a privilege, not a given.
May I choose to celebrate life,
To celebrate the numbers,
To celebrate time,
To celebrate each moment
Of this little life
That I have been given.
May it be so.
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