From my experience so far, middle-aged angst is exactly like teenage angst except it comes with more mortgage, better wine and fewer eyebrows (google it, it’s a menopause thing)…the existential dread is as firm and pert as ever though.
Imposter Can I carry this mantle Such great expectations and dreams Could my words really Reach out – explain what is means To live this life With its twists and turns Unknowns, unravelling concerns. I am afraid most of the time Uncertain of each word and line Is there meaning only for me As a solitary sentry Guarding nothing of value Merely a passing review Unread, to become dusty A blink of what could have been history?
Angele Toomey Poetry 