When I Die

When I die, if you must, shout out my name. But only, only if you must. When I die do not make me angelic. Tell all the world the truth, the way you really knew me. Send an owl to Rita Skeeter, have her write the ‘Life and Lies of Annika Patrick’ as she did for the greatest wizard of all time. Remember me as I lived, do not sugar coat the pictures. I beg of you, do not sand away the rough edges. Let my memory stand untampered. When I die shout out what you may. My name if you must, though I truly hope not. Shout the names of the deserving. Shout to the world all those who were always and truly good. When I die, do not make me picturesque. When I die, let me meet my Maker with no cover-ups of my horrors. Let Him see me and me alone, so He may truly judge. When I die, remember me, but do not view me in a shrine. When I die tell the world my story, the real story. All, everything, leave nothing out. Let them be aware of my numerous faults and few qualities. Shout those who are deserving. Shout not my name. When I die, forgive my faults if you are able, but forget not my true self. Many, many wrongs. Not enough attempts at rights. Caring, but in a warped and wrong, undeserving way. When I die, feel free to remember. Plead though I must, remember my true self. Remember my few ups and many downs. Remember it all. When I die, lay me to rest and live your life better than I. So shout your name they shall. When I die, lay me in the ground and keep moving.