Poem #17

Is this how pieces of me can stay?
Through shouting from across the way?
Only living through stories, letters, and poems I haven’t given up on,
That I wrote for the few who will mourn me when I’m dead, rotten, and gone.

Will the resonance of my voice bring every last bridge down?
Reducing them to rubble to fill my deadname’s urn, wrapped up in grime.
Or maybe my voice will just slowly rattle them until they collapse,
At risk each day. Relics, death traps in due time.

Is it even worth going through?
Will the dreams I have ever come true?

If not, then maybe I won’t look before I leap,
And I won’t sleep before my dreams start to speak.
And I won’t even fully grasp what I’m so scared of:
Going back, but I won’t, I’ll be here forever

And I know you’ll say “nothing lasts forever,”
So if my time here needs to be prolonged,
At least I can fight and claw and write and sing stupid songs
From the other side of the river.

Jay Hillis is a writer, poet, artist, waiter, tutor, fortune teller, maid, student, guy/girl/concept, and self-proclaimed ‘World’s Shittiest DJ.’ For inquiries about any of the above-mentioned adjectives, please ‘leave hate comments on [his] Instagram stories.’ He can be found on Instagram here.