As a maiden,
I was shy and lonely-
Afraid to show the world
The bigs dreams
And lofty ambitions
Inside my heart.

So I stayed in the background
And made myself small,
Letting my dreams die
With each passing year
Until they were nothing
But another layer of ash
Upon the scorched earth
That devoured my self-esteem,
And turned me into a shadow
Of my former self.

As a mother,
I learned what courage was-
How to fight for myself
And my child.
How to open my mouth,
Use my words,
Claim my ideas,
And climb through the muck
In order to evolve.

It hasn’t been easy
(Or perfect)
But I’m slowly growing
Into the version
Of myself
That younger me
Could only dream about.
And I like to think that,
Somewhere,
She’s proud of me.

As a crone,
I hope to cherish my age
And wear my crown
Of silver hairs
With pride.
For aging will no longer
Be something to fear,
But rather celebrated
With good food,
Rich wine,
And the laughter of future generations
Playing in the garden.

By then, I hope to cast off
The expectations
Of a society
Obsessed with youth
And conformity
And embrace my true self-
Wrinkles and all-
So I can step confidently into the unknown
With a clear conscious
And a heart brimming
With a lifetime of memories.