It’s good to be a child again.
Once again pounding the pavement,
A twenty-something in combat boots.
No longer Ms. Professional.
Ms. Teacher-thang
Old decrepit
Aging every moment.
Her.
It feels good just for these short hours
To be the me I choose.
To be the person I love.
I’m tired.
Tired of this stressed out,
Over worked,
Reaching for the bottle,
Old women you made me into.
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