A friend of mine recently got cancer
Told me how at 42, I would never know
What it feels like to have nothing left
Because you’d done everything in life
To the point of being grateful to leave
For her, I wondered if she’d made a list
A crazy bucket list or a fuck it list or a
100 fun things to do before I die list
But she was content with consistency
With being a woman, a wife, a mother
Roles of identity in which she found love
And yet here I am, not wanting to live
Heart broken so often I have lost count
Of all the bucket lists and side projects
I’ve made to create a sense of meaning
A sense of purpose in a new world
That embraces uncertainty after covid
And I love radical thinking, but I also
Love control, or at least its illusion
And I can’t fathom how at 18, I thought
I was writing like I had 6 months to live
But made lists that would take more
Than one lifetime to complete

Published: Highly Commended for the Mayoral Creative Writing Prize, Adult – Poetry