A few years ago, it occurred to me that I am going to die. Not any time soon, hopefully, but it will happen. I then realized someone else would have the last word on all that is me if I didn't take matters into my own hands. Behold my panicked attempt to sum things up:
Here lies Sheila,
it's sad but true,
too nice for the bad boys,
to the mild, just a shrew.
She wanted a lover,
a friend and a mate,
but couldn't get past
the labeling gate.
"Refreshing" to many,
"sexy" to some,
but did they woo her, you ask?
No, not a one.
Was she bitter? A little,
but it caused no real harm.
It came out in her humor
and enhanced her charm.
She knew life was short
so she savored the fun.
She vowed to be open
and accept everyone.
She was often naive
and got hurt on the way,
but she found some real gems,
true friends...worth the pain.
Now don't get me wrong,
she knew assholes, too.
But at times there was simply
a wall to break through.
How did she know this,
perhaps you might ask?
She had walls of her own
many simply walked past.
Life wasn't easy,
but in the end
she died not alone,
she had all her friends.
I'm getting on an airplane soon, to be followed by high-speed auto travel on an unfamiliar freeway culminating in a ferry ride to an island where, in theory, one could be cut off from the rest of the world forever. I think it's appropriate to print this poem before I leave. Just in case.
