I haven’t written a poem in awhile. I felt inspired this morning while touching up my gray roots. Hope you enjoy this.


I can see my face falling;
my butt reached a new low.
It all just doesn’t seem fair.
Rushing like hourglass sands,
my parts are downward prone,
to whither I know not where.

This migration is galling!
But one comforting thought
makes it more easy to bear.
No matter where it all lands
they shall not be alone,
my breasts are already there.
— Rita Romero