People Who Die Rip Us Off

People who die 

Rip of us off. 

They really do. 

Not intentionally, mind you. 

But their death, 

Their departure,
Our awareness of their absence, 

Robs us of their presence

Of their touch, 
Of their aroma. 

Death gets up in our face,

Nose to nose, 

To dare to declare 

That we, too, 

Shall surely die 

Someday.

There is no escaping,
No eliminating,
No having an immortal body.

Fear of our very own death 

Is hard-wired into our psyche. 

Grief buries itself in our muscles.

Therefore, we must

Talk grief out of our bodies, 

And out of our minds. 

Grief hides deep in our hearts. 

It desperately needs a voice 

To work its way out.

When we gag the mouth of grief

It chokes and rots deep within us. 

Grief then manifests 
In unsavory ways. 

It will bite every helping hand.

It will chomp,

And chew,

And spit out all joy,

While stomping on everyone 

Who would attempt 

To make us feel better. 

Our voice is a magic salve 

Use it
To squeeze out our grief 

A little bit at a time.