Forties- Here I come

 
Forty or not
Still the teenager that rebels and retorts
But not reined by ‘what people think’
 
Still the daughter who loves to be spoilt
But can indulge another child with equal love
 
Still the lady who cries at the cinema
But can control a burst of fury or two when needed
 
Still the child with dreams and flying wings
But can ground and anchor at the right moment
 
Still the woman who will not bow
But will in gratitude of the haves
 
An emotional pulp of sensitivity and senselessness
An oddity of principles blurred with habits
A heart that breaks very often
A spine that hates to yield
 
Yes forties are something
When grey hair tugs at your heart than your scalp
When ‘middle aged’ seem real and dangerously close
 
And yet they are nothing
For I still look up, beyond and below
For I need my rainbow, my sunshine and my earth
For I still look within and around
For I need my iron will and molten heart and warmest hands