Being 43

I turned 43 yesterday and my adolescent mind giggles in my aging body.

Sometimes it overflows onto the surface of my being  and delights in its mischievous schemes to defy the wisdom that comes with age.

A month ago, it drew a dragon tattoo on my forearm, and then later, cried out loud what the fuck did you do.

Tonight it laughs at it all again, remembers it flows like rivers, is spacious like the sky and can fly high over the edge of decency.

Tonight the ink in my skin has dissolved into openness, it secretly winks and outrageously smiles.