[some minor key]
i hate the face you’re painting me
with your rapidly wandering eye!
in the blink of it i grow as old as i am
and weary too, with no words left to sigh
not much poetry then to be recited
not one single song remains to be sung
you’re a poem that has lost its beauty
and i am the poetess silence-stung
yes, i could act older and react much cooler
since winter freezes the world apart
but i’ve never been too good an actress
also, i hate actors
like i hate acting parts
and i hate this hate i need to fuel
to overlook your fairest flaws
that got me once, and got me twice
and would get me again to claw
for the face i like
that you’re painting me
with your vividly wondering eye
since age means just a number here...
but you’re outnumbered.
and so am i.