I guess you could call me broken,
says one. I’m still lonely, says another,
but now I can name it with a song.
In my poem, says another,
I can forget I am forgotten. Now
I understand being misunderstood,
says another. And another says,
in a bold, undeniable voice of power,
I won’t step down from myself again.
And they are beautiful, beautiful,
standing one by one at the mic
where they have come forth at last
from behind the curtain.
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