april is poetry month #5

no pride at all

death would like me better if I didn’t complain so much, if I didn’t punch back against every morning pulling itself up over the ridge dragging up the sun; death would like me better except that I’m fat and death does not like fatness; death would maybe love me if I were willing to be quiet, to swallow it all down instead of yelling, instead of acting up, instead of saying…

(contact me to hear the rest of poem–rebeccacookwriter@gmail.com)