We’re like trees
…and their leaves
We are beautiful until we’re not
When the yellowish tinge gets our slot
We look at the swaying vibrancy of the young
The respectable names hit us like beautiful insults
“Auntie, Madam, Ma
Uncle, Mister, Pa”
The respectful manners fall on us like lovely assaults
Being offered seats when busses are full
Being offered help when your muscles are in the pull
Talking joints help us not
We’re mostly in weird situations caught
It sure is a blessed-scare
Knowing not all are able to get there
…but feeling changing-looks is so unfair
I am here
Here, where everything seems confusing
But there’s no button of refusing
…this phase so unfair
These are the signs of aging
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia, © February 5, 2026.
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