when my ashes are dandelion seeds- floating in the wind waiting to land on a new place to grow-
think of my personality as christmas lights-
bright three months out of the year, but appreciated the rest
think of my voice as a microphone-
loud, but necessary for others to be heard
think of my beauty as a weed-
beautiful to some, unnecessary to others, and most of the time picked from the roots and removed from the equation
think of my life as a pumpkin near halloween-
terrified of people carving what they perceive me to be, but ready to transform into something other than who I’ve been.
—  How I want you to remember me, B.A.C.