Bones

Beauty of skin is fleeting,

give me bones.

Age comes too quickly,

and the skin tells the story

of every bar you ever drank in.

Every cigarette you ever smoked,

every man that ever did you wrong.

Give me bones.

“She’s younger than you”

he says.

Heartbroken, she knows.

Put something in the bank

for a rainy day

and “retirement”

cause the extensions fall out,

the lashes thin,

the hair goes brittle,

and the light of the world fades.

The inner must become greater,

if grace is to be achieved through these years.

The fat must fall off,

cause the competition’s stiffer.

And one by one,

all of your assests fall away.

Give me bones

that show through skin.

To let me know

there’s still youth within.

~Jenny