Oh, the wretched, damnable ache of growing older
of saying farewell to wild romps through the park
of turning these sunshine smudged days over to memory
of taking it all into my arms once more
before
letting it
go
completely
it’s a funny sort of pain
and I don’t much like
the way it pulls at my insides
an ulcer; stinging, perverse, present

years ago I longed to be
the age I am now
thought it would guarantee
confidence and joy

but now that I’m here
staring into the abyss
on the brink
of living
“my own life”
I’m paralyzed

perhaps that little girl
with the tender spirit and
brown eyes
who believed time would solve everything
was wrong

because now I would give
just about anything
to be in her place