You, the little boy
Slacking brother to the overachieving sisters
Who hasn’t found the shell of skin that fits him perfectly right yet
Inching into manhood nonetheless.

You, the teenage girl
Pushing the stroller of your new born baby
Label reading ‘statistic’ hanging around your neck like a dog chain
Finding a boy who will learn to love a mother’s body
On a sixteen year old face
While spending your nights learning the notes of your baby’s hum
And the shape of her body until it’s commonplace.

You, the single father
To the daughter fighting overseas
While you sleep through her recycled dreams.
Piercing hearts planted in front of her, she pulled her finger back
Afraid that if she didn’t
You’d wake up to your daughter shipped home in a body bag
With a typed up letter reading
“Sorry, we didn’t know how much blood it takes to spell ‘Freedom’.”

You, the woman
Body vandalized, soul broken into minefields
When he forced himself into you
And you changed your name to victim
Rocking the empty cradle of his baby that will soon be aborted
You changed your name to controversy
But in coming time, you’ll see.

You, the paper pushing, pizza every Friday, white-collar worker
You, the mediocre artist striving for extraordinary with your daytime job as a waiter
You, the off-Broadway actor and the local wedding singer

You are all beautiful.