Monday, September 26, 2011


When I'm old, I want laughing wrinkles
to form like the rings inside tree trunks,
collecting wisdom, and age over time,
but telling a story of the series of heart aches,
and trials and how they were washed away by joy,
of being loved by a loving being,
and the feeling of every problem being a mole hill.
They will leave their mark on my skin,
carved with the utmost care.
I want the world to see that my sadness never became a part of me,
but my smiles did.

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