The Wooden Ceiling

You deserve better than this


We’re sitting in the back row
Surrounded by people I don’t know
They’re playing a slideshow
Of you growing up
Pictures of all the people you loved
Who now stand around your body
And tell people thank you, I’m so glad you could come


No one is crying
I’m staring at my black pants
I can’t take it
Stabbing my nails into my hands
Trying to hold it in
By telling myself I’m not where I am


Besides your pale face
You still looked the same
Like you would sit up
Comment on the music
They decided to play
Now you die again every Tuesday
When I remember


We all kept a straight face
While your son told stories about the days
Before you passed away
He stumbled over his words
Like they physically hurt
But after an hour people started to leave
Quietly sneaking out the back door
While he talked about legacy


We couldn’t properly grieve
Too caught up in how we’re perceived
There’s too much pride
In keeping your head held high
Heaven forbid anyone see us cry
Even when someone just died