Please make a fucking fuss

I traveled halfway around the world to be something

You will not not cry as if my dying means nothing

Once I thought I was

Nothing

I thought I could disappear and no one would even know

Or care

I liked disappearing

I made a career out of running away

when I first discovered the power of flight.

If I die tomorrow I hope it will be easy

I denounce difficulty

Hard work is too hard

Yet I did wash dishes 10 hours a day

I did walk in below zero temperature to get to work

clutching my lungs as if they were going to fall out

I did wait tables and dealt with messy eaters

Filled up empty condiment bottles with ketchup, soy sauce and vinegar

Smiled until my face hurt for an extra dollar tip

I did take care of children who colored their sky pink and their monsters, purple

When first I crossed the border and my savings ran out

I wanted to go back home

There, where people thought I could be something

I wanted to stay a teenager on my friend’s porch

Drink gin and seven up at dusk

Play mahjong all night

Smoke stolen marlboros until my lungs hurt and my throat, torn to shreds

Pray I do not wake choking in puke and blood-tainted phlegm.

Sometimes the things that keep us alive are the things that kill us

Remember the white guy in Kung Fu found dead in a closet?

Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston?

The water was still warm in the tub when they found her

And what about that pretty young thing who inched her way to the brink to catch that perfect selfie?

Did she even get to post it?

If I die tomorrow, sure, say some prayers, although I prefer poetry

Toasts and tales and yes, a little karaoke

My dog would lay on my side of the bed waiting for me to pet her

I know at least my daughter would cry

She always cried when sending me off at the airport

I know my husband would tell jokes

And my son would smoke weed all day and hide his grief in the fog.