Terra Chapman by: Nancy Hines, Graphite on Paper
I often wonder at what point will feel my age
like a wave of realization will take me over
and adulthood will consume me.
But it gulps me up and spits me out
tells me I’m not ready,
says I am to blame
though it doesn’t want me yet either.
I’m sure everyone around me feels their age
the numbers go up, but I stay unchanged.
I am a woman, though I wait
for my growth spurt to surprise me,
check for my cheekbones to show,
wonder when my breasts will come in.
yet on paper my age calls me a woman.
I wonder at what point I will feel the sudden change
all the other women must have felt it.
I should be drinking coffee
as my harsh steps click down the halls,
fast walking to meetings in which my words
are jotted down and considered,
power in my stance and my suit.
Something must be wrong with me
I see my peers get married, have babies
as bite my nails and watch Netflix
Maybe if I act different,
wear heels and dress with purpose,
drink wine to ease my stresses
or give up my Luke Cage obsession…
On second thought,
I’d rather stay happy
I don’t care to feel my age.