yes, I say, sing your
song of normal, and tell
that to the young
woman, small and
narrow, almost fragile
with the red x marks
drawn across her pale
white skin
who’s afraid to tell
because you might run
away, and all she needs
is someone to be there
in the dark lonely hours
of the night, when
all of the tiny voices
gain strength and learn
power over you
when everything inside
you cries to be released
to see the light of day
to be judged and found
forgiven
and the night cries
a low long howl, a
train across the tracks
in the dark shadow of
earth
and we laugh and cry
and I fall
and I fall
and I fall
and all the world spins
like a top on the grimy kitchen
floor, tracing spirals through
dusty time as I sink
through the hours
of another night spent