By: S. Davis

Thirty isn’t 20
Neither is it 40
Gravity remains in your favor
But 30 reminds you to cease the childish behavior

Your pants still fit
Although getting into them might induce a mild panic
You no longer casually bring your glasses along
You think the fonts have shrunk, sorry dear you’re wrong

We all grow old, ok i’m sorry, we mature
That spring in your legs is gone when rising from the floor
You tire faster ascending stairs
And notice the streak of grey peeking from your hair

You thought children were gross, dirty little tykes
Yet now you wonder what yours might look like
Your beauty shall remain and you can help with sunscreen in the light
If all else fails, diva, you can go under the knife

You find yourself wiser and that is a clear benefit of age
You’re not old, you’re mature, and in the book of life 30 is just a page


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