my funeral comes early.

they say you’re remembered,
not by what you say
or even what you do,
but by the people
you affect.
they say your life should be
a series of faces,
a chorus of voices,
that make up your story.


I am a decade
of misplaced memories
& another decade
of what they molded me
to be.
if I was made up of
shared experiences;
if I were to die today,
I don’t know how well
my story would be told.


who best to represent,
who better to tell
my life as it is,
than my own memories?
I would pick & choose,
would compile them
like pictures for a slideshow
to be played
at my funeral.


the tears of my father
(who I thought could not cry),
braiding my mother’s hair,
the trust
in my little brother’s eyes.
the first lie I told
(over a roll of Smarties),
my grandmother’s watch,
my second dose of distraction.
a misunderstood friend
(a friendship I have yet to understand),
writing words of sadness
in the fog of the car window,
singing too loudly without caring.


the years of confusion & self-confidence,
before the mirror wars
& collection of unused notebooks.
when shy was still acceptable
(adorable, even).


I imagine my ghost
approaching the podium,
looking out over
a spotty audience.
“Do you miss me at all?
Hard to go unnoticed
at your own funeral,
believe it or not. I
don’t blame
any of you, you know.”
while my slideshow plays,
I see the gaps
of my existence
being filled by the reactions
in the eyes of my spectators.


is that life, then?
a delicate art, a masterful
for everyone around you.
so, that,
when you are dead & gone
someone can say
I remember.
we all want to be remembered.
some of us
work on our slideshow
a little too late.


slowly, I am
with the hard fact that I
may never get
both sides of the page
even in my own book.
in the end, I will be
an interpretation
of the people who knew me.
I may never be complete.

Image source: here


4 thoughts on “my funeral comes early.

  1. That scares me some.The pages in your book need to be written by you not others. It looks like you haven’t even begun life yet. Misery is misery, and the abuser goes on abusing by it. Overcoming that can be accomplished you need to want to finish the pages in that book. Please take up my earlier offer. You don’t yet know how much the writing does for you and for others. I know you have courage and I can see that; embrace that courage and let others encourage you by your own words..

    Liked by 2 people

    • I don’t mean to scare, only to express. The concept of my “book” or life being written by others was an idea I wanted to explore. It’s almost unavoidable to be “written” by others, especially by people who care about you and vice versa. As humans we are impressionable, which can be good or bad. I agree; it’s important to finish your book, to write your story. But you have to be open to “edits”, changes people bring about in you. We are shaped by our world, by our family and friends. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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