On Aging

I came across a poem by Maya Angelou this morning.  As a whole, the poem didn't speak to me but the first four lines brought me  up short, encapsulating something I've been feeling for a while: my internal monologue is becoming more a part of my everyday life.  Some people might say the voices in my head are becoming more insistent but I like to think that I'm becoming more aware of their presence.  Certainly I wouldn't be able to complete this exercise of collecting poems if my internal voice was not part of the process.

ON AGING

When you see me sitting quietly,
Like a sack left on the shelf,
Don’t think I need your chattering.
I’m listening to myself.



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