My Age

my age is not a number.
it is the manner of gathering
words
now more careful and
choosy,
not really cool, but
just faithful
to the nuances of
every syllable
my age speaks only
for itself
since no one listens
and i am aware
about this incoming
calmness
the boring day
when you say
that i am more
irrelevant to your
presence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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