When did I get old?
Why does every lie I've ever been told
end up as a line on my face?
With good cheekbones and a strong
character, anyone could afford to look
like Katherine Hepburn
past her prime, but I'm just me --
flawed by the passage of time,
and too little sun-block.
There's a girl inside, still full
of romantic notions of noble knights,
fine white steeds, and promises made
not to be broken.
That girl looked, and looked,
and looked, and looked
for Mr. Right; traveled to foreign
places to find his lined face
in a crowd.
That's who I feel like most days;
that young girl, future uncertain,
still gambling for the happy ending.
The mirror tells me different
and sometimes I can't take it.
That's why, most mornings,
I put my face on
by the light in his eyes.
© 1999 Heather Long