from the writing workshop I spent today doing(although obits as aids to creation were discussed...I'm not *that* dark,
My Real Obituary
When somebody writes this(Who? There is not even a natural candidate, for I have
No guilty daughter where we made up at the last minute and sucks up to get my unimpressive,
Ahistoric, mostly zircon, fake-girl-power cause I bought it for myself, jewelry. Which, probably, nobody will even want, much less covet.)
There is a lot they won’t get to say.
The first line always trips people up a lot. In fact, in my whole life, many people see “born with a disability” and kind of stop reading. Maybe even me.
I am probably not a soothing ass-cream magnate,
Despite the massive points I would get for using my life
For scientific discovery, economic advancement and soft cheeks.
A very few people will survive me in my heart,
Despite my lack of Freda Payning it.
Some will remember what my mouth tasted like,
The first time I had champagne.
More might remember my dogged, though possibly dorky, attempts to make
The world a better place.
Or my wrong words,
In the right places.
I don’t think it will be enough,
As much as it has to be
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