You sit in a line, I see you
Each with a different hair style,
unkempt, yet perfectly thought out

You weep raw wounded tears
For me, for yourself, for your beloveds
Like a piqued adult, I sense your worry
The worry that you are not crying well-enough,
puffy-enough, make-up-smeared-enough

But it is raw, enough
It is from a newly formed depth,
a mark that will leave a mark, which
will leave a mark, maybe

And you will sing from it
You will dance from it
You will use it as both sword
and shield for the rest of your
life, maybe

But it is raw and it stings
and it wails, oh god does it
wail and scratch and burn

But I see you,
In a line, with your
hair unkempt,
holding each other close