"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never one beautiful, it was just red." - Kait Rokowski

I wanna make poetry out of the way the boy who was my first grade best friend

opened himself up on election night like a can of tomato soup and washed broth down the shower drain

              his mom chose cremation to dry his bloated body.

our environmental science teacher attended the ceremony

 and hugged me afterwards so tight

    like he was afraid I'd evaporate if he let go

and I wanna make poetry about how I felt like I Would

we stood there outside for an hour and a half and my hands were numb and my head was numb and my feet were numb and I beginning to lose balance

And the worst part of a funeral is when everyone leaves at the end

I want to make the way his urn sat off to one side beautiful

and i want to illuminate his father's tears with gold leaf,

give a heartwarming " moral of the story " so I don’t

     keep coughing out “Yeah, I’m fine. He’s in a better place now!”

a life lesson that has you thinking all day

but sometimes

all that blood will never be beautiful

it is just red.