Sit comfortably, boys and girls,
Because I'm going to tell you a story.
Once upon a time,
You were born.
Then you live,
And then you die.
Or at least, in most cases,
But I don't want that to be it.
I don't want my story to be
Four lines long.
I want there to be adjectives before my nouns,
And a million semi-colons to separate
My millions of clauses.
I want commas and periods,
Run-on sentences and spaces left
I want my story to have infinite lines,
Written and typed by my own mind,
By the minds of my friends -
By the minds of strangers
Who see me in the street,
For all of a moment.
And when it is over,
When it is truly the end –
After all those main clauses and subordinate clauses
And commas and semi-colons
And photographs and run-on sentences
And excerpts in
I want my story to be read.
And I want to live a life
That is worthy of being a story at all –
A story that is more than four lines long.
I want my story to live,
To breathe from its pages
Like lungs, and for each letter
To glitter like a star,
Forming sentences like constellations
On a parchment sky.
As so many do,
To live forever.