For my age

 I'm 18. My skin is taught and healthy, my eyes are bright and sparkling. I am beautiful.

I'm 25, I carry my body differently, I'm youthful and mature. I am beautiful.

I'm 30, I am a mother. I am powerful and have meaning. I am beautiful.

I'm 35, I notice a wrinkle or two but still hold the male gaze.

I'm 40, somethings different...  am I beautiful?

I'm 48, things are drooping, my skin is becoming crapy, I have a neck vagina. I am beautiful inside.

I'm 53, my thigh muscle appears to be attached to nothing, my elasticity is waving good-bye. I am beautiful for my age. 

In fact, I am not old or young. I never was. I am either here or not here. 

I'm 53 and I look at my body, my face and one genius part of me smiles. How lucky am I to get to experience being so different than I have been my entire life? 

I get to be a woman who is no longer valued, desired, sexualized, hated, envied by others. I get to be invisible to my culture as much as I want. There is a secret in there that is thrilling.