For the Ones I Haven't Met

at your age it was a routine

the next doctor

the next feeling

the next bully

the next pill

something's wrong with you

"is it that you can't or won't"

to this day I carry all of it

I'm still sorry

to everyone

for everything

nevermind to all the ones

with a chalk smile

as mother paid them

"see you next week"

it's not that they don't care about you

once you leave

some do

it's just that

for being here as you are

your different parts will be treated

as something to be fixed

for profit

what does the voice say about it?

it's never nice

I wish someone had told me

it's not always you

like the day I dared to ask

"what is this place?"

it's one we never asked to be part of

I'm sorry

but things may change

I won't give you platitudes or stories

of how I once was where you are

another way of calling you unrefined

I'm going to tell you

of how I had to become

a lighthouse across a cold sea of eyes

how I'm not the only one out here

who will listen

to hear what you have to say

and to how you will say it

who doesn't want to be paid to hear it

who knows it is so much more than "life is tough"

there are people who are broken yet

don't paint their fractured parts with gold

who know how love holds a fragment of rage

that will leave the first time machine

smoldering in the dark

who see how war is a sound made by frightened people

trying to live a bit longer

but not succeeding

whatever great world there was

before the fall of night

before the shamelessness

fumbling the keys to the church

there are some of us left

tending the fires

at the top of the spiral stairs

few though we may seem

and often departing

these broken places

stay awhile

I've missed you

but there's nothing

I can promise