Today I'm thinking about the ones who didn't make it;
ODs, suicides, and prison.
Some of us made it.
Grooming dogs, working in cubicles, working cash registers,
cleaning cars, fighting rich people's wars, having babies,
bowing down to the man,
oiling the machine we used to rage against.

My family said I was too good for you,
that I didn't belong with you,
but I did.
They didn't see you
and they didn't see me.
We knew we were different from other kids,
but we didn't know why yet;
carrying a pain so great
when we were so young.
Some of us have been crushed by it.
The secret pain:
family dysfunction,
mental illness,
disability,
addiction,
alcoholism,
abuse,
neglect.

Some of us made it,
but what does it mean?
We've been beaten down by life,
submitting to the man,
oiling the machine we used to rage against,
we forgot who we are,
but can't forget the ones we've lost.
We don't rage anymore.