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To whom it may concern,
as you might have noticed,
reading my poems,
and other writing
I've revealed
a great deal
about myself
and
would have hoped
that I'd be better -
known
understood
by those I've met.
Do not be surprised
as if you didn't
see it coming -
my final act.
In this, my poem,
and other poems,
I've shared an
understanding
of Sylvia Plath
or Anne Sexton
wanting to die
and her aweful
rowing toward god.
Even within my own family
there are those that came
before me.
My auntie Rosie
ended her existence
abruptly
with a shotgun in her mouth.
My first cousin
hanged herself.
Some people believe
that the dead visit
the living
in dreams
or in some altered
sense of consciousness.
My dreaming mind
has encountered
both of them,
as if all was fine,
as if death -
their deaths
were not real
or true...
I shape new narratives
out of memories.
Perhaps
in this final act,
I'll find that I accomplished
something
for which others
will remember
me.