It’s my birthday. I’m 41 today. And well…time has done what she could (along with my help…and some of my own abuse) to tear this body down. But, it is strong enough. And the marks it bears are the story of my life. Sometimes, I love what I see in the mirror. Sometimes, I really don’t. Today, I’m at peace with it. This is what age and childbirth have created. This is a gift. There is softness. There are curves. There are stretch marks and tattoos. There are scars and imperfections. Rolls and bumps, and creases and wrinkles I sometimes wish I didn’t have. And yet, every one of them is me.
- A four-poem year
- Unsuccessful blow jobs and sexual frustration