TT: Upon My Funeral

Content Warning: mentions of death; talking about it.

When planning my funeral
Know first that
You can feel relieved, too;
I don't have to deal with this bullshit anymore.
The world has been difficult
And has drove me insane
From the weight and ridiculousness of it all.
Know that my strife is no more.

It'd be unlikely I would have
Done myself in.
And if I did
You'll know of everything that'd be the blame
In my final letters
And the telling of my life.
Ideally,
I would have grown old, at peace with death
Despite my jokes of
Living forever.
But most likely,
A component of me will fail
And there's only so much I can do
If I hadn't just quietly given up.

I am quite tired.

I'll probably have no will,
No master password written down.
What's left in disarray
Through barriers societal or my inaction.
I'll be dead;
Let the living sort that shit out.
Let them come across everything
I hid in plain sight.
Some things may still be left wide open.

So,
Steal my contact list.
Send out the invites to as many people as possible.
As with any event, only a quarter will show.
So find out who'll show.
Amuse those that do show up.

Upon my funeral
Find those contradictions
I was bound to have.
Call me all the names I answered to.
Vehemently correct my pronouns;
Those that refuse to correct themselves
Are welcome to join me.

Yes, do the usual-- slideshows and so forth.
Keep it outside; I'd hate a church.
If you must utter deities and the sort
Only orishas are permitted
And my favorite Black authors.
(But it is really best if you don't.)

Tell your stories; drink your drinks.

Dress in your best Goth attire.
Dress in your best drag.
Dress in such a way people will think you're going to a party.

And have a party.
Offer all the food I love and hate.
More for you, more for you.
Have a Deathday Month
Because I loved having Birthday Months.
Do the things I'd do with you.

Cremate me; no one is keeping me in the ground.
Do with the ashes as you see fit.
I can become jewelry,
A sprinkle in a Floridian spring,
The grit in a brick to throw at the pigs,
A strange paperweight overlooking your work.

And in your relief,
Please cry.
I didn't do it nearly enough
(even though I am crying now)
So you'll have to do it for me.

And live.
If you can do what I couldn't,
Live forever.
If you can't,
I'll be seeing you.

In the meantime,
Maybe I'll figure out that whole haunting business;
Y'all know I love to be annoying,
Knocking over and stealing things.

The grief will never go away
But at least
I'm part of what I should have been,
The grand and humble
Thing of the world.