When I die,
Do not talk about me
Like I am the most wonderful person
To have ever graced this Earth;

Instead, tell them I am mad.
How my ***** nails dug ugly scars
Within my dark, burning soul
Fed with rage uncontrolled.

Tell them I am selfish.
With an eye for love I have not
That my heart rejoices but in sorrow
Only coldness and loath would grow.

Tell them I am broken.
That these crevices that he left
In the regions of my heart
Will not ever heal completely again.

That I walked wide-eyed yet half-awake
Torn between the fantasy of his lips so sweet,
And the gleam of his pointed teeth.

Tell them all my sins.
My uglies.
My glories.
And only after that,
That then,

Maybe you can tell them I was beautiful.


©Leigh
Feb. 14, 2017