silent

Writing is my solstice;
Writing saved me
In ways that you will
Never know.

I used to
Think what would
Be said at my funeral:
“She was great,
Oh Lord, she was great,”
But instead of that,
I want it to be silent.
No words through
Lips and teeth, no
Tongue to sway others
As we wag and wave;
My funeral will be silent
Not because the air
Is painted with dread, no,
Silent because my writing,
My poetry, my stories, the quick
Words on napkins and discarded
Gum wrappers, will be handed out
Like flyers-no one to holler, no
One to direct-it will all flow seamlessly.

I wonder what people will
Say when they realize
They never knew me at all.
I wonder what they will
Think of me when they realize
I fooled them.
I wonder what they will do
When they realIze
That I died knowing that
I was never really known.

Will heaven know me
When I am given wings
In place of leaded limbs?
Will heaven forgive me
For my heavy heart
Knowingly aware that they
We’re the ones who placed stones
In my heart? Will I drift
In the clouds, will I receive my own heaven?
Why does paradise
Seem so far away-
How can the Lord promise paradise
And make us wait in this forsaken world
And fester in shit and hate?