Birthdays

I'm confused...
guess I should be...
maybe all girls are...

each year - every single one of us
turns another page
in the novel of live...

we all age,
we all get older,
we all get closer towards the other side...

but when are we old?
When are we done?
When are we used up?

When is our beauty gone for good?
Society puts so much emphasis
on our age, on our beauty, on our style -

seems with women
sometimes that's all that matters
in their eyes.

Are we just our looks?
Are we more than our age?
Are deadlines what makes our existence?

Does the time come
that we stay inside in slippers and robes...
tending an overgrown yard...

watching TV...
doing a crossword puzzle...
cooking another meal?

No men to love?
No fashion to follow?
Do we matter in the end?

Or maybe...
that is the reward
and the message our grandmothers send.