by ojo25 Nov 2013
An age has found me where they can’t see past the grey.
Grey = Grandma,
Had it, lost it, past it,
Been through the wash too many times,
Grey = GHOSTS
Grey Haired Over Stressed Twenty Something.
But I’m oh-so-not twenty
So begs the sum, grey hair + 5 year old son?
Grandkids? Oh, late kids? Really, No?
Dressed up, best satin skirt & Nikes looking fly
But still the grey helmet staples my label
Eccentric mid lifer,
God help me, mutton dressed as lamb.
Damaged melanocytes that’s me,
Beckoning strangers to cross boundary and What? How? Why? have their say.
Remember back in the day
On crowded tram, Baby face can’t be grey Au Naturel,
And horror, the inquisition went public,
Jury demanded, prove you don’t dye, show us your pubic!
But now I’m rockin a few signs of my years
And it’s harder to wear asymmetric youth.
I’m blending in, like
Sublime Mousse, Creme Gloss, Nice n Easy.
Got to silver it up & graphic the cut to now wear my exclamation.
I’ve become a mirror to age,
Prompting scorn from older high maintenance Puss,
Betrayer to her three figure honeyed mane.
And the locked on looks from buffed up blokes pushing past thirty
Who’s eyes search, why am I not hunting their gaze with a felt tip follicle invitation?
And to top the lot the envy groans of those whose greys play hide n seek,
I’m SO lucky to be all over old, I’m told.
But I’m not here to collude to your bottle dependency,
Nor prop up your wood,
Or nurse your looks.
Le freak is wearing it bare,
Linking arms with Art & Garfunkel
This silver girl is sailing on
With Vs to the gawps, the stares & the glares.
Jo Hall 2013