Of All The Stories I've Written, I Share With You, Stranger, These Few

Memorialized

When I am dying,
on the brink of death,
do not scream,
begging for me to hold on,
to stay alive.
Something inside me
has deemed it my time
and I have no choice
but to go willingly.
I do not want
my last days to be filled
with pity and grief.
I want my life
to be celebrated
with butterfly milkweed
and laughter.
I want to be remembered,
but not memorialized.

Interpret this
as my last will and testament,
if you must.
For when I am dead
I don't want
to be fought over.
I don't want to be
the ending
of conversations,
a dead silence
falling over the room
whenever I am mentioned.

I want to be cremated,
my body joining
the air on the top
of the highest of mountains,
because I
am a mighty beast
that was known to be
both feared and adored.
I want to be remembered
as powerful.
I want
to be powerful.

When I am dying,
please know that
I,
a great and powerful beast,
am finally setting my sun
on this horizon
of this earth,
and that my life
should be encased in glass
like artifacts
to look back on and loved
instead of shoving my existence
in moldy cardboard boxes
destined to live their lives
in the corners of an attic.