Anti- Pity Party Poem

I am married to Ottis Redding, Jeff Buckley,  Joe Henry,
Thom Yorke, Grant Lee Philips
 Elton John
The teenage crushes, Bradley from Sublime, Bono,
 Heather Nova, P.J. Harvey
Every poet that sings to my soul
I'm not accepting the sentence given me,
 Not rushing life
Not when I don't feel sick
 not when they seem so rushed
To get me gone from bed to make empty for a better customer
A card not from the state,
 pills and instructions to make it someone else's problem
 If you've been avoiding me
you may reach out (I know you see it)
I may catch your fingertips as I'm running to life
Leaving death in nonacceptance and shriveling,
Yet it may all be true, and not much time is left.
I will paint and create, through fever I urge to
Put paint to canvas and paint out my lungs.
I feel like now is a good time for a memoir
In which I would only refer to my experiences
 leaving no blame behind for me
For my crazy journey
 for someone who's only been three thousand miles away
I've lived more life than many
Either way, it's the only insurance
 minus some savings bonds I could leave
Again nothing is sure,
 except most artists don't mean dick till dead
In which case I should shut up and see
 cause I've seen we still see when we don't.
All of that to say
In case my daughter is smart and could dredge up
some cash from some paintings
 some show flyers and a handwritten memoir of a woman???
Displaced, out of time?
I'm sorry I did my research dad
If I was in California
 I would vape my worry away right now
I'm in the heat, in the hell, in the home of numbering years
 a woman cramped in a box
When I need a studio
 more than I've needed anything
To paint out my lungs