fear of aging
I am not afraid of getting old.
I look forward to wrinkly skin, aching joints,
thinning hair, using a cane or walker;
I look forward to it all,
because getting old means I survived.
I made it.
I didn't quit
(on my hopes,
my dreams,
my aspirations and desires;
I didn't quit on myself.)
I proved my toxic upbringing
and my demons wrong.
I made it—and I was here to stay
(and I was mentally OK with it.)
I am not afraid of getting old.
But I do fear becoming a resentful, jaded,
and depressed (old) woman.
I do not want to be unhappy forever.
(and)
I fear losing my spark.
I fear losing the best parts of my self
(those that are here
and those that are on their way).
I fear it. I hate it.
And if I grow to be a bitter woman,
then I do not want to keep living.
(or do I? I won't know until
I get there, right?
So, should I give myself a chance?)