In Which the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Attends Her Own Funeral

I write poems, break hearts, solve mysteries
 
They’ve called me vapid and careless, a tease
 
I bought the pillbox hat with the black veil  
at a yard sale that summer 
You told me probably an old lady died in it  
I felt confident in my purchase,  
 given the way  
you looked at me  
We were always laughing 
and honestly,  
you’re one of the funniest people  
I’ve ever met

Are we Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn?  
Or Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher?  
That’s always the question  
I want to know the answer  
someday  
when my bones are more so brittle  
and I look like Sally Field in an  
Osteoporosis pill commercial  
 
In my former life I felt like  
some lawfully wedded  
Miss Havisham variation  
Wedding gown covered in dust  
Did I ever tell you that I saw  
Kurt and Courtney’s wedding cake topper  
on my own honeymoon?  
Should’ve seen it as a  
snowy, orb-shaped omen  
 
You finally clued me in  
after all these years  
that I wasn’t so much a Havisham,  
Sawyer or Finn, but more like an  
Estella to your Pip
Always suspected,  
but feared the red herrings and  
scarlet letters and  
you know me:  
 
I write poems, break hearts, solve mysteries