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Poem

It's funny, looking at artists work 
date of birth - date of death 
and date of artwork...
I expect them to be dead
expect some relevance to date created
to say "ahh, just before they died" or "oh, so young and so early in their endeavours"
What am I doing? Looking at points in time!?
It's something I disliked about researching family history, this summing up by two dates and trying to discern lives from dates on a page
Like I can't be figured out until my last page
But then... So much is then opened up
Being remembered creates new versions of you
The impact you had brings meaning lost in your lifetime
What floats away with you and what stays?
I could totally gloss over my angst, there's time!
I'm not even branded angsty, just "self aware"
Maybe I could be a character rather than quirky
Quirky hasn't really arrived... I should get some definition 
I feel almost panicked, there isn't much to say:
(There was a list, it was too honest so I hit delete)
Maybe I'll be better hearing others views
I'll leave the epitaph to them
In fact I've never agreed with a self assessment of someone else - I'll like them better or worse, it's the nature of it
Maybe I shouldn't like myself or I'll become wretched
I'll just do my best (when I can - not that striving all the time nonsense)
I'm being authentic - I hate winning anything undeserved
Maybe I won't win at all, I'll just partake
The judging is after my time anyway 
I'm still the only one in the whole family tree past and present with a university education 
I could nail that birth and death day already
But let's not call it too soon...

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