They'll say
that I died early
and claim to know how I lived.
Don't believe them.
Others will insist that their words are comforting,
but don't believe them.
Don't indulge.
Not in that.
The moments that gave me comfort
were the ones
that they refuse to discuss
or were the ones
that they weren't even aware of.
I wrote so that you don't have to.
It's a weakness
in them
in you
and was even in me,
but don't celebrate that.
The words are important,
but don't believe them.
Smile when you shouldn't
and cough during the emotional climax.
Disappear for a smoke
and shrug drunkenly when they pry.
I would have loved that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem