Attention ~ Tuesday, 7 January 2020

He doesn't understand, the man who writes 

endlessly about loss, my suicide, 

death by hanging, in a room, all alone, 

only these words he writes cannot revive 

energy lost from my body, a corpse 

stuck inside a coffin until I rot, 

no, this man reifies the dead with words, 

this trick fools nobody, I am still dead, 

under the earth for as long as I lived, 

not long, twenty-two years or so, still young, 

dear momma died near twenty years later, 

even I'd cry if I could shed a tear, 

remember how she wept at my service, 

still, I was young, her beautiful daughter, 

tragedy makes Greek theatre look tame, 

again, he puts words in my mouth, poets, 

no one will ever understand their lies, 

damn fools speak their minds like everyone knows 

the reason they write, to show emotions, 

happens to be because they are stunted 

emotionally in real life, they play 

make-believe on the page, but in real life 

a woman needs a man who can comfort, 

needs a man for more than a handkerchief, 

women don't really need men, we pretend, 

however some pretend so well, they act 

obviously confused before others, 

women speak their minds better than this man 

remembering me as a character 

in a play, as a foil to speak his thoughts, 

terrible he can't remember my hair, 

enticingly curly and shocking red, 

something about my whiskey voice, no more...

endlessly he tries to remember me, 

no one can blame him, I was real stunning, 

despite the fact, I made friends with him, shy, 

lacking a way with women was his way, 

entertainingly oblivious, yes, 

stuck inside his own head with language games, 

still, to say he thought too much may be true, 

lackluster as a lover, never tried, 

yep, I was a gorgeous chick, now I'm gone, 

ask around, we were friends, no babies, see, 

boy, I think he saw me as a victim 

of some horrible domestic abuse, 

understand, he projected his own pain, 

transference, I think they call it, my voice, 

leave it to him to put big words in place 

of my clearly Southern vernacular, 

shit, he did it again, like I simply 

slipped from his memory, a long time gone, 

maybe he's just a bad writer, this man, 

yes, if I assess...but I don't exist, 

suicide attempts do that to people, 

until we succeed, we just keep trying, 

if failure is taken as a concern, 

conveniently people forget, we try 

in the real world like a strange behavior, 

doing what we do until we succeed, 

everyone knows dying young is the goal.