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E B Apr 2013
Upon the taking of my last breath,
I ask that no tears be shed.
Instead, I request that there be laughter,
Laughter to fill rooms and shake shoulders.
I want there to be joy upon my departure,
Joy that may follow me wherever I go.

Do not tell them the truth.
Tell them I died valiantly,
Protecting the helpless and
Playing savior for the weak

Tell them I was fearless,
Completely unafraid and unfazed
By anything that was ever placed
Obstructively in my path.

Tell them that I danced in the rain
And that I never got sick, ever in my life,
That I wrote beautiful things and
Spoke wonderful words.
Do not tell them the truth.

Or better yet, please do.

Tell them I was broken and frightened,
Pretending to be strong always.
Tell them I was a dreamer and I never woke up.

Tell them of the music I loved.
Speak of the people I greatly adored.
Tell them I was twisted, psychotic, confused
And beautifully, boastfully, blissfully so.
Tell them how I laughed as often as possible.
Explain how I never cried in the presence of others.

Tell them how I cared for others and how
I never did understand human nature.
Tell them you could never know me
Without knowing my deepest secrets.
Tell them how few people really knew me.

Tell them they are beautiful and loved
Because that’s what I would say, if I could.
Tell them goodbye and wipe their tears.

Tell the truth of my gloriously insignificant life
But only to the ones who loved me most.
Gynecology is no laughing matter! Back to the **** heap...A wrong turn might drop you into the lap of The Full Moon School of Gynecological Enthusiasts...**

Gamma gauze tape pads stitches, sutures & staples & blocks yeast,
while nourishing the gloom of Austrian weather enjoyed to my east
where-from nobody is availed to rent land that is better let unleased
to slanderers foundered in the romance of 2 smooth bowels creased
obstructively for a slattern nun & Bible-rebuffing, monsignor priest
whose thongs bunch doing jumping jacks as *** hems are released
that can't be knitted, established, corporated, sewn or puzzle-pieced
Gynecology is no laughing matter! Back to the **** heap...
A wrong turn might drop you into the lap of The Full
Moon School of Gynecological Enthusiasts...

Gamma gauze tape pads stitches, sutures & staples & blocks yeast,
while nourishing the gloom of Austrian weather enjoyed to my east
where-from nobody is availed to rent land that is better let unleased
to slanderers foundered in the romance of 2 smooth bowels creased
obstructively for a slattern nun & Bible-rebuffing, monsignor priest
whose thongs bunch doing jumping jacks as *** hems are released
that can't be knitted, established, corporated, sewn or puzzle-pieced

— The End —