I don’t want to grow old and look young
I don’t want a porcelain face that doesn’t shatter when it feels
I don’t want a body that defies gravity, I want mine to be grounded
I don’t want manicured arms, bulbous lips and pristine fingernails
I want my hands to show how hard I’ve worked
I want to wear my mistakes and my triumphs with pride
I want every scar, every mark, every line, every wrinkle to tell a story
To tell you this person lived, this person laughed, this person frowned,
this person made it count
These lines grow as I do, let them tell the world
I am here, I am alive.

Published by


writer, musician, artist, joiner

One thought on “Porcelain

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