The signs were
not lying.
The great fatigue
each night.
Yes, my memory
is still fine.
Got to hold on.
Mid age crisis?
Walk, stop running.
The air is
much thinner.
Is time elapsing
faster then before?
Not a woman
any more.
The cradle
of birth
has been removed.
Empty shells
on a deserted beach.
Sexless body
seeking identity.
A mind of
an individual,
no longer a woman.
Despair in the air,
no sense of direction.
Busy lonely days,
restless black nights.
The answer's evasive,
heart heavy as lead.
Then light on horizon,
a tiny shred of hope.
I am needed.
There's much to do still.
Head held up high,
There is a purpose.
I'm a woman
To be reckoned with.
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