To Remember

To remember:

People say it’s good to remember
To not let memory die like an ember
In the eyes of those who burn on pyres
Who are dead and gone and burned in fires.

When I see people who look like them
And I wish I had stayed home instead
And I often wish they weren’t dead
And I wish I had quit whilst I was ahead

And I wish people would stop telling me to remember
When that day comes around in early December
When l paint a fake smile on my face
And pretend to forget all about the eighth.

When I act like there’s no small twinge
In the pit of my stomach, and that I don’t cringe
When I see the old Facebook profile in my recommended
And I cry when my emotions go undefended.

People say it’s good to tell stories
About what you knew about them and their glories
But I don’t buy that. It’s rude and uncalled for
Let me mourn in my peace; it’s all I am good for.

When I cry in the bathroom on December the eighth
Don’t ask me when I wash the tears from my face.
Don’t ask me when I cry in early May
Because I’ve forgotten the exact, world-shattering day.

When I realise I can’t remember what they look like
Don’t ask me why I go on off-school strike
When I come into a classroom with red eyes
Don’t ask, as a joke, ‘Oh, who has died?’

When I wake up one morning and wish they were there
When I beg and I hope and I send up a prayer
Only to wake up and really realise they’re gone
And I smile, though I know it’s put on.

And there are tear tracks in my mascara but it washes away
And I’m ready for another, wrong-feeling day.
Because I’m here, and they aren’t, and it's not really fair
And I wonder if grief washes out of your hair.