what's wrong, he says
and i say quietly, every night
i go to sleep and dream of
waking up to a life where i am a better
version of myself but
every morning I wake up
to the same inadequacies
same insecurities
same flaws
and I'm sick of it

isn't that your fault, he says
and i say quietly, i dream of
helping people and putting
myself aside, of shedding this
graying coat of skin and doing right
by people

i dream of people showing up
to my funeral because i
have helped them in some way
and they are compelled to
mourn my death
not because i like that kind of
attention (it wouldn't matter because
i am dead) but because i
think i would like to know that i have
lived a life well by seeing that
i have somehow put my finger somewhere
on the fabric of another's life
and hopefully
created a ripple

i think you can have that, he says