Thirty-two

I am thirty-two
I love pottery, DIY and bread
Red wine, summer dresses and Kohl
And wood block painting, of course

I am thirty-two
And beginning to love my glorious body
Magician of a kind, nurturer, medium for life
Hope, by next year or so, I love my soul too, if not as much

I am thirty-two
And I am giving myself chances
Every now and then
Writing, sometimes, keeping a journal of sorts

I am thirty-two
And I can't repeat this enough
Because I've aged like wine
Bottled up, rich, real and scarlet

I am thirty-two
And I cry, crumble, scatter
Into a million particles, ashamed
Wanting to undo my past, erase my future

I am thirty-two
And yet, I haven't found my feet
Probably never will
Still, I tell myself, hold on today

2 comments:

the weight of a letter said...

You are a treasure, thank you for sharing your beautiful writing. I have a feeling I will never find my place in this world, always with my feet off the ground, living in my dream world and not coming down anytime soon.

Preeti S. said...

Every time I log back in here, yours is one blog that I definitely visit. After all this time, your words still retain that same raw energy, and emotion, that I remember them for.