How old are you?


It all began with a question, how old are  you?  I think i might have been forty, though my skin was smooth, no wrinkles defined my age.

A warm handshake, and a conversation sprung, we talked about cars, houses politics, environmental issues, then it dawned, i might be four years. I know not of days when forests were paths to getting home.

I might be ten today, i am a little slow and stubborn, i know he wants to taste my cookie, but i love the games he wants us to play, so just like a ten year old, i will play his game.

His eyes are filled with passion, a strong desire, i think we can quench this, so i am thirty, maturity at its peak.
Willing to settle for something as long as my eyes are happy.

I have less focus, with tantrums from here to timbuktu, angry at every being, not happy with the person in the mirror, just like a teen, i want bigger lips maybe i will be able to talk less, express my thoughts in better ways, if my bossom was just a bit smaller.

I have this deep craving, of the “he’s” 
A thirst i cannot understand, a desire beyond worlds, like a twenty year old, i am thriving to stand out, at the same time loosing myself.

And our conversation goes deep, to how he is searching for happiness, of how age taught him, that happiness is fiction, so with the question “how old are you”  he hopes to find an answer.

I wish i was two, or maybe three, when i discovered all,  i was happy, when i danced on mud puddles, when we ran around with boys my age, singing songs that had no tune.

I hated been twelve, when my chest started to bulge, and the color of my urine changed, when my voice was so soft, and boys my age, didn’t want to hang out with me.

I hate being twenty, i don’t like the color of my eyes,  or the kinkiness of my afro, I’d have preferred some long silky hair, a bigger bum, smaller waist and a firm bossom, bigger lips, a longer neck, straighter shoulders, you know what, i don’t like the twenty something old i see in the mirror.

That’s why i am forty, without the wrinkles, they all seem happy, like you, the people in your age group, with families to run to, i can take a vacation, and am answerable to know one, i can visualise my dreams, and nothing hinders me to actualise them.

He smiles, winks, offers a warm handshake, and tells me to enjoy being a twenty something old, that age is not a number, but how you enjoy life.


3 Comments Add yours

  1. awesoME says:

    wow! i cant just stop imagining this; “long silky hair, a bigger bum, smaller waist and a firm bossom, bigger lips, a longer neck, straighter shoulders”


    1. junglegarl says:

      hahaha, let your imagination drive you..


      1. awesoME says:

        It’s has already kicked me off my senses..hahaha

        Liked by 1 person

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