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They say that with age you become invisible… That you’re no longer important. That you’re in the way. They say it with such coldness that it hurts— as if fading from view is part of the fine print of growing older. As if you’re meant to accept your place in the corner… becoming just another silent fixture in the room—quiet, motionless, out of sight. But I was not born for corners. I won’t ask permission to exist. I won’t lower my voice for anyone’s comfort. I did not come into this world to become a shadow of myself, nor to shrink so others feel at ease. No, ladies and gentlemen. At this age—when most are waiting for me to fade away… I choose to blaze bright. I do not apologise for my wrinkles. I wear them with pride. Each and every one is a signature from life— that I have loved, laughed, cried, and survived. I refuse to stop being a woman just because I don’t fit the filters, or because my bones no longer suit high heels. I remain desire. I remain creativity. I remain freedom. And if that irritates you… all the better. I am not ashamed of my silver hair. I would only be ashamed if I hadn’t lived long enough to earn it. I do not fade away. I do not surrender. And I am not stepping off the stage. I still dream. I still laugh out loud. I still dance—just as I can. I still shout to the sky that I have so much left to say. I am not a memory. I am a presence. I am a slow-burning fire. I am a living soul. A woman with scars— who needs no emotional crutches. A woman who does not wait for anyone’s glance to know her strength. So don’t call me “poor thing.” Don’t dismiss me because I am older. Call me brave. Call me strong. Call me by my name— with a steady voice and a raised glass. Call me Grace. And let it be known: I am still here… standing tall, with a soul that burns bright.

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They say, as you get older, you become invisible
That you no longer matter. That youre simply in the way.
They say it with such chill in their voices that it stings
as if fading from sight is part of the contract of growing old.
As if youre expected to slip quietly into a corner
to become little more than furniture in the room
silent, motionless, out of mind.
But I was never made for the corners.
I wont ask for permission just to exist.
I wont hush my voice so I dont trouble anyone.
I was not put on this earth to become a shadow of myself,
nor will I shrink so others can feel at ease.
No, gentlemen.
At this agewhen many simply wait for me to fade away
I choose, instead, to blaze.
I do not hide my wrinkles.
I wear them with pride.
Each one is a signature of my life
proof I have loved, I have laughed, I have wept, I have endured.
I refuse to stop being a woman,
just because I no longer fit in societys neat boxes,
or because my bones are done with high heels.
I am still desire.
I am still creativity.
I am still freedom.
And if that unsettles you
all the better.
I am not ashamed of my silver hair.
Id only be ashamed if I had not lived long enough to earn it.
I do not dim.
I will not surrender.
And I am not stepping off this stage.
I still dream.
I still laugh out loud.
I still dancejust as I am able.
I still call up to the sky, letting the world know theres more I must say.
I am not a memory.
I am presence.
I am a steady flame.
I am a living soul.
A woman with scars
one who no longer needs emotional crutches.
A woman who needs no ones gaze to know her strength.
So do not call me poor thing.
Do not dismiss me, just because I am older.
Call me bold.
Call me strong.
Say my name
clearly and with your glass raised.
Call me Grace.
And let it be known:
I am still here
upright, with a spirit that burns bright.

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They say that with age you become invisible… That you’re no longer important. That you’re in the way. They say it with such coldness that it hurts— as if fading from view is part of the fine print of growing older. As if you’re meant to accept your place in the corner… becoming just another silent fixture in the room—quiet, motionless, out of sight. But I was not born for corners. I won’t ask permission to exist. I won’t lower my voice for anyone’s comfort. I did not come into this world to become a shadow of myself, nor to shrink so others feel at ease. No, ladies and gentlemen. At this age—when most are waiting for me to fade away… I choose to blaze bright. I do not apologise for my wrinkles. I wear them with pride. Each and every one is a signature from life— that I have loved, laughed, cried, and survived. I refuse to stop being a woman just because I don’t fit the filters, or because my bones no longer suit high heels. I remain desire. I remain creativity. I remain freedom. And if that irritates you… all the better. I am not ashamed of my silver hair. I would only be ashamed if I hadn’t lived long enough to earn it. I do not fade away. I do not surrender. And I am not stepping off the stage. I still dream. I still laugh out loud. I still dance—just as I can. I still shout to the sky that I have so much left to say. I am not a memory. I am a presence. I am a slow-burning fire. I am a living soul. A woman with scars— who needs no emotional crutches. A woman who does not wait for anyone’s glance to know her strength. So don’t call me “poor thing.” Don’t dismiss me because I am older. Call me brave. Call me strong. Call me by my name— with a steady voice and a raised glass. Call me Grace. And let it be known: I am still here… standing tall, with a soul that burns bright.