Generations

As a young man, growing old scared me. I feared a time when my light grows dim, and my skills fade.

All I'd be left is a body that's alien to me, a name that burns my ears to the drum.

As I grew into the woman I am, I realised. Growing old is a privilege given by the women that came before me. The ones buried in suits, resting beneath names they long killed.

I rest within the shadows cast by men history remembers not as sons who lived, but daughters who died.