If I was gone, people would notice, a funeral well attended
Tears would be shed, regrets told in earnest
a house would be sold, possessions disposed of
not that it matters, no possession defines me
My family would gather, tell stories of my life
some would be lovely, others recalled to clarify
I was a mess. Unforgivable flaws.
Impetuous. Stubborn. Hysterical. Selfish. Stupid. Misguided.
These would be my legacy, the things remembered most.
After a year, I would be a mere wisp of a thought
perhaps brought up at Christmas, or Easter
My boys would move on, as would my siblings
and perhaps never talk, never meet again
because in the end, I am the only thing they have in common.
Me, the impetuous, noisy, adolescent me
which makes them wonder: do they love or despise me?
How can I compare to them, those who are so perfect.
Life would go on, if I was gone.