If I were to perish now
But linger as a spirit still
What kind of ghost would I become
Would I stalk empty libraries
In spider silk and solely seen
Reflected in a late night’s work
Or would I die at home, become
The first part of its histories
For unborn children yet to come
To whisper that they once saw me?
If I were to die today
Empty darkness would await
For in my years I have not found
Reason enough to tarry on
When my eyes closed it would not be
With mouth of curses, lovelorn sighs
Or guilt-struck revelations, but
With quiet relief that all would say
“So sad. So young. Such future worth.”
While I would be let off the proof
Of expectations right or wrong.

Still. I will not die today.
Instead, I’ll age, and not become
What they – the friends, the family,
And teachers, churchgoers, all the
Strangers strangely invested – thought
That I could be.
Worn down by the increasing weight
When countless voices somehow sense
They once could have been something more
If only

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