You wasted your full bloom of youth waitin’ for Mr. Right,
fulfillin’ someone else’s view of perfect ladylike.
Your beauty slipping through your fingers like fine desert sand,
alarm bells ring, take what you can, there is no perfect man.
You’ve become all that you didn’t want to be when you were free,
the same mistakes your parents made, you’ve managed to repeat:
A textbook sterotype.
Driftin’ through the teenage years with neither plan nor aim,
but one things sure there’s not a girl on Earth to take your name.
But, one by one, your mates and crew tie knots and go their ways,
some girl you’ve dated on and off is now your fiancée.
When the decades pass like aeons, wallpaper doesn’t change,
when your love and trust turns to dust, feelings to estrange.
When you seek another’s company for pleasure and support:
What the world a midlife crisis calls, ends up in divorce.
©24.9.2018 Andrew Robert Chapman
the girl you’ve dated on and off for years your fiancée.