You were supposed to be there, to guide me, and tell me what to do.
To yell at me for wearing your clothes and to get out of your room...
To teach me how to talk to boys, and do my hair. To take me shopping for  clothes that we both could share.
To cry at my wedding, because the little girl you always knew is all grown up, just like you.
But, now you see the stars up close and the world from a bird's point of view.
But, you know what I missed the most? Was never getting to...look up to you

Touched by blue
Drunk with poetry
my dreadfully crapulous hair hugging me from behind
Feet bare on a sheet of snow
I call to prayer for my masters
Murmurs in my ears, I lift my eyes and see the
Great Writers whose ink is thicker than blood
ghastly standing on their graves

Rilke proclaimed on his deathbed:
"Vergessen Sie nie, das Leben ist eine Herrlichkeit!" ("Never forget, life is a glory!")
Jiménez, Twain, Gary, Neruda, Yun ****-ju, Fitzgerald... all
look at me with compassionate gazes. And Braley grabs my face and yells,
"The greatest verse hasn't been written yet!"
Nazim Hikmet nodded
I hear a fading echo like receding waves,

Why be good?
It's probably all about
clothing our naked souls with
a dress of innocence.