Age

There must be some mistake
I am not the Venus
of Willendorf
These breasts that hang
low and mournful,
do not belong to me.
This bulging goddess belly
is not sacred
My flesh is swollen
with unshed tears
Muscles and bones
scream with the memory
of past wounds
Crows circle my eyes


Crimes, violations, betrayals
no longer hide beneath
my smooth skin
They have surfaced
to weigh my body down
with their sad tales
The mask I wore for centuries
is now my face
The lines around my mouth
finally telling the truth
Where I’ve been
what I’ve endured
and smiled through

I want to carve my self
a minimal, silent body
One that can keep secrets
So that no one will know
I am not the prancing young girl
the hope-filled child

This is my body, I say
not ready to be crucified
on the cross of time
And if it must be so
that age conquers all
Then please tell me
that there is a place
I can go to before I die
where flesh melts away,
inconsequential
in the heat of some sacred light.


c.mva2005