when you write my eulogy [and all the things i want you to say]

i want you to indulge in the fact that i was not as accomplished as i was passionate, 
  that i did not dream of anything other than things i could not have,
    and that i fell in love easily and often.
        do not bury the truths under sugar coated compliments or attempt to hide the mysteries of my mind and soul.
   i want you to revel in the enigma i leave behind,
    for i will remain a mystery as long as the moon remains in the star-coated sky.
   i want you to leave a message of my sensitive nature:
 unsheathe the secret that i was a romantic soul, 
 i did not love lightly, or briefly, 
   my heart was easy to steal and even easier to break. 
      do not leave out the fact that i craved the chance to be vulnerable, 
    but that i did not often let myself take that chance
for i was often afraid
  and did not often know why.
  i wish you not to claim my intelligence as anything more than introspective:
do not ignore the ugliness of my past mistakes
  or the fragility of my human mind – 
           for i was always far more intense than i was careful,
                  and i often dreamt so vividly i seemed to live within my own faraway world. 
   i want you to say that i was careless when it came to myself,
       and that i cared far too much when it came to anything else,
           and please, do not be afraid to admit
                 my fickle habits, my most unappealing thoughts.
                     tell the world that i was always so intoxicated by the validation of others
                        that i forgot to validate myself,
                              i spent so much time wallowing in what could have been but never did. 
  when you write about me, do not let it be dishonest,
      do not fail to admit my exceptional proclivity for the solitary,
           or my undeveloped sense of self-esteem, 
               or my extraordinarily talent of bursting into tears at the most mundane of things.
        do not leave out my idiosyncratic tendencies,
     dedicate a page to my unbecoming habits, 
the little things about me that nobody ever had the misfortune of knowing.
   when you speak of me, do not mumble the displeasing parts and speak highly of the others – 
      for i do not wish to be remembered as a perfect stranger,
          but as a lover of a passion, 
                  the leader of the misfits. 

Published by featherquills

i am a misfit and a wanderer, captivated by the mysteries of the universe and the secrets of humanity.

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