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Eulogies are beautiful things in the way that many counterfeit things can be beautiful; in the way that deception so expertly executed can be so breathtakingly perfect; in the way that a fist sized cubic zirconia shines so brilliantly under artificial light to an uneducated eye. When it comes to death, people lie. We polish people. We inflate them to be great pillars of the community, concrete in their indelible mark on society because it is universally accepted that an ugly truth, with regard to both life and death, is more regrettable than a well intentioned lie. But I say don't paint over me. Let me be the sandpaper rag that no matter how hard I try, I cant make anything shine. Let my eulogy say:
*she hated celery, jazz and bandaids; didn't understand truffles, caviar and the Beatles; she abhorred people but loved "It's Raining Men," potatoes and dogs.
*she ate her words as easily as she ate her feelings
*she was at her worst most of the time, but she tried. She COULD be kind. She COULD be good, but she was not a kind person or a good person.
*she had a chip on her shoulder that would make Atlas start sweating and it frequently got heavy abd rubbed her raw. She coated the wound in a womb of sarcasm and anger to ease the pain.
*the inside of her head was like a white chapel brothel and her heart was the dark basement that was terrifying until you went in and turned on the light.
*she was a bipolar addict warrior chasing oblivion with a butterfly net with a hole in it.
*she wore everyone she ever loved around her neck.
*she loved deeply but never learned how to say it.
*she had religion but not faith. She was a rock thrown through a stained glass window, landing on her knees in front of Jesus whisperinf "im sorry" as she picked glass from her palms. 
*she was ill.....not sick.
*she wasnt pretty. She wasnt sweet. She thought most of the world was garbage, but she gave money to homless people and cried at spca commercials. That has to be enough. 

Don't paint over me. Let me go.
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