I Am Not Old–A Poem

Looking with love at yourself.

One of the ways in which I get myself to sit in a chair and write is to use a writing prompt.  The booklet I use to get some fun writing prompts is the one written by Judy Clement Wall’s 52 Weeks: 52 Ways to Love Your (Wild) Self.  The writing prompts are put in seasonal order.  Since the last time I wrote something from her booklet was in Winter and now it’s nearly Fall, I’ve chosen something from the end of Summer–not because it’s easier than the other activities to do but because if I want to get back on track, it seems like it’s the best place to start.  I need to write something today rather than wait for a week’s worth of activities to write a summary of those activities.

This week’s writing focuses on something I’ve never been particularly good at, so bear with me while I bare my soul in a poem proclaiming why I’m not old (cough, cough).

I’m Not Old

My body hurts today

but I’m not old.

I’m legally blind

but I’m not old.

I need to eat tons of fiber

but I’m not old.

Insomnia kept me awake for hours last night

but I’m not old.

My arms are soft and doughy

but I’m not old.

I have fewer years on this planet than what I’ve already lived

but I’m not old.

My advice is from experience and not the Internet

but I’m not old.

I’m waiting on my latest diagnosis

but I’m not old.

I take a pill every morning to help my thyroid

but I’m not old.

I put miracle cream on my face every night

but I’m not old.

People at the stores call me ma’am

but I’m not old.

I’d rather live in pajamas than a pencil skirt

but I’m not old.

Walking for exercise is about all I can do (doctor’s orders)

but I’m not old.

Taking time out for sunsets and changing leaves is important

but I’m not old.

I sometimes worry about my memory

but I’m not old.

Pain in my hip could be arthritis

but I’m not old.

I have less patience for mindless & heartless friendships

but I’m not old.

 

I prefer my dogs’ company over people

but I’m not old.

 

I don’t look forward to birthdays

but I’m not old.

I don’t like the County Fair, Disneyland, or Boomers.

I don’t look forward to going to the beach, a concert, or a crowded event.

I hate zoos, malls, riding bikes, shopping, and talking on the phone.

Hmmmmm…..

Well, maybe I am old.

 

Okay, okay, I know that was a terrible poem.  It was more like a free writing exercise in which I only went back and changed one or two words.  Let’s just pretend that this poem never happened, and if I’m really lucky, the dementia will kick in and I will have forgotten I’d ever written this.  Going to try to figure out how to make this post self-destruct after my death so my poor kids don’t have to read this garbage!

Now it is your turn to write a poem entitled, “I’m Not Old,” and try to make it more convincing than my effort!

 

 

 

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