My new face.

I just looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise my reflection. When did I get an old ladies complexion?

When did my eyes start to look this tired? When did these turn up, these wrinkles all wired?

Why when I frown, do lines decorate my face? Grey hairs sprinkled all over the place!

Why when I stretch does my body ache? When I do anything, I hurt for fuck sake!

Cake my face in heaps of make up, and now I do it as soon as I wake up.

As I don’t know this person staring back at me, looking with a load of uncertainty.

Asking questions, like where have you gone? You’ve changed too much, it just looks wrong!

Then my brain kicks in, “Give yourself a break! You just beat death twice, for goodness sake!”

A tiny smile begins to crack. No laughter lines, you can’t attack!

There I go being silly again. Thinking the difference is a bad omen.

When actually it means I’m alive. I swerved that shit with a duck and a dive.

I look different because I’m a survivor. I beat that monster. I beat cancer!

I poisoned my body to make myself better. Poisoned myself to become a go getter.

To spread the word that we can best the beast. Make it so the disease is deceased.

Fuck you relapse, you’re not going to happen! You’re not going to sneak up again all of a sudden.

See I don’t recognise this mature me. But a fighter she is, that’s a certainty!!!


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