Young you say
My writing sounds young.
Yet I am just 4 years shy
of your 50.
Should I take this as a slight?
A statement of my naiveté?
Or my undeveloped nature as a writer
as a poet?
Or should I bask in it as a compliment.
That I have not become jaded
and still sound fresh
Despite the waves of pain
That life has crashed against the doors
of my body and mind.
That I still have a naïve belief
In myself and the power of love
To right the wrongs done in this turbulent world
Or at least the ability to transcend them
And know they cannot touch me where I truly live.
That the harshness this world throws at me
Lands like superficial scratches
On young skin that heals quickly.
© Jill Joy 3-23-12