My Ass Is Old... Or A Year Younger

Yesterday was my birthday. On most levels it was cool. I was awaken with one of the best surprises in the world. I did poetry for little kids which was, pretty fcking amazing. I would love to do it again. Pretty intimate evening.. Though my childishness would not allow me to appreciate and enjoy it.
In undergrad I used to go to every bar and restaurant I could find in an effort to get free drinks and food. By the early afternoon I was drunk off my ass.. But I continued to drink... I never got alcohol poisoning, nor did I throw up or pass out. It was mostly fun.. Or so I thought.
So today I was thinking (and it did make my head hurt), that I was getting a bit older and while I do appreciate that GOD blessed me with "good" skin and features (black never cracks BABEE)... I became afraid as I looked at the wrinkles in my hand. How my eyes are getting a little lighter. I don't always heal as quickly. How despite the fact that I am in touch with today's music, it often makes my head hurt. I talk about the old days. I want to settle. Make a home with someone special, who loves me good, bad or indifferent. Doesn't care that the gray hairs are sprouting thru my locks, and well, a few other places, like my legs, and those darn old lady chin whiskers... I think about my mom, who didn't want to continue to read her book nor pen her story and gave up much too soon. My great-grand who told and lived her story thru dips of levi garrett snuff. A great-aunt who did nothing more than drink orange crush and smoke viceroys, her story ended a few chapters too soon. My favorite aunt who lived her life thru prose... It was an adventure til the very end. And of course... My grand.. Who told a profound story of love and lost. A damn fine read 'til the very end... And I, I am the voice of the village. Happy Birthday to US.. as you continue to live thru me.....