i love the color of my hair
brown red and in some places pink
my tired legs and lined filled hands
eyes that stare flat beyond the sky
and a mind that has lost the hard shell
of youthful indulgence and inexperience
i love my lips still round and plump
and the new found freedom
of spouting my own thoughts
that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom
i love my face
oh those expression lines
that will never be usurped by botox
my cheek bones high and tight
to frame a genuine smile at the wind
i love my hair when she gets wild
and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills
stroll in the Rolls Royce isles
worn out Chucks with the strategic tears
where the toes are too tight
salesmen follow me with Lysol cans
and their neat white gloves
that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi
the hair a right of passage glorious
furious bright riot
reminding me that my agedness
is a catalyst to the third eye lens
from where i can finally see
the dimensions of the world
the good and the bad
and really only give a damn
about the moments that matter
words less spoken 
You write a fascinating self portrait, and seem to have come to love the skin you wear and image you project.
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Yep more liberating as I go thank you, friend
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Self awareness… line defined.
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🙂
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I love a person who is comfortable in their own body.
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Yep life is too short! Wish I had realized that sooner thanks for reading friend xo
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Hail, the hoi-polloi! x
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Hail! Forever xo
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I hear you!
‘ the hair a right of passage glorious
furious bright riot’
Just perfect! It’s a wonderful thing to love who you are.
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thank you friend xoxo grateful for your visit ☺
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