Cleaning a mirror
I rub it hard
Am I rubbing away the reflection I see?
A mother, a wife, a caretaker, a cook
Don't see a woman I used to be.
I see long weary nights under my eyes
I see worry shining grey in my black hair
I see silent frustration in the creases of my smile
I see compromises in shapelessness of my body
My Reflection, when did I stop caring for me?
Reflecting back it was easy to see,
Was always easier to cut corners from my needs
To ignore the wishes, dreams, aspirations that remained buried in me.
Now old, tired, grey, past the wrong side of age,
Is it too late to resuscitate the dying heart buried under the ashes of grey?
Would I be ever known any other way besides the prefix to my work resume?
I keep rubbing harder and faster
Stopping at a determined glint in my eyes
Buried under dark circles and late nights.
A smile lit my tired line face,
Yes I still had spark, and grit to do my thing!