He spoke,
in front of our souls
in a cotton t-shirt.
They told him to be real,
to talk, cry
as if he was our shoes,
half afloat in a puddle.
He asked us if we were happy
with ourselves on Friday nights?
Or if we had to change ourselves to feel
normal?
I know he spoke of parties,
cold beer,
and hot smoke in young voices.
But he also spoke of loneliness,
the munching of corn chips,
the one’s that make me sick,
the one’s that make me forget.
The empty loveseat,
the crooked kitchen chair,
my math homework,
incompete,
tearcovered.
I become someone else.
But here
in this silent auditorium.
I realize,
we are all the same.