Spite
i hope he went quietly and i hope that i go loud
i think the ending must conflict with the beginning-
quietly, and on accident, with hope
loudly, and on purpose, with flair
raised as a baby that didn’t cry a lot,
a kid that didn’t really complain,
a pre-teen that argued but kept the grades and learned real well
i want the end to be screaming
i want to be doing my best and spontaneously combust
i want to burn and burn and burn in front of people
i want to burst into flames so fast that within my ashes you saw not only
your hopes of a happy daughter and
the potential of a happier son
because i know that stars do not shine if they are not burning
and you will not believe the sight of my death
if the background is not gay rock jazz blasting from my car speakers
if i am not mangled to a mess
i am not acting if it is not pissing off my parents in the process
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