Infinitely Living

I want my biography to be listed on
Pandora when my song pops up,
and I want a catchy tune that
gets stuck in your head
and never leaves.
I want my poems to be published
in a thick book like Robert Frost’s
collections, describing the seasons
and how they change the way
we view life.
I want my voice to be one that
is not easily forgotten,
but not quite haunting you
as you take the train
to work.
I want my words to be the sweetest
sound ever heard, not being
compared to the many
voices that derive from
Town Hollywood.
I want my face to be one you think of
when you want to be comforted,
knowing that I would hold you
if I could, if I knew which tree house
your soul chooses to
hide out in.
I want my smile to be my best feature,
my eyes matching my headband
day after day; I want my ideas
on a billboard, but only if they
could stay there forever
and not be replaced
after two weeks.
For eternity, I want my handwriting
to be etched in your mind, always
in remembrance of me so you
never forget what I did
when I was still alive.





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