Beauty intervention

“Big sister, how do you like my hair?” She asks sweetly as she touches the puff of hair on the top of her head. Her hair’s chemically treated straight and painted black. “Looks good dear” I respond. She gets up and stretches down the tight skirt she’s wearing, as I stare in disbelief. I can’t

A Plea

Lord help me I’m changing too fast And I can’t keep up with my cells Soon I’ll turn to sand, and I won’t know what to make of myself anymore. Is there a way I can stay this ripe? Like a fruit that never dries. Can you turn me into a painting? Or like the

My changing hands

Honey, I don’t know what’s happening to me. My hands are hurting… my fingers, my wrists. I’m afraid I may not be able to hold you. I’m getting older, day by day. In a matter of time I may be lying in bed, unable to move. I’m looking at my aching hands, and even gloves