You'd think, like a mosquito, they'd taken so
Much from your hide you'd itch for
The way it was, when the drama was the draw.
Instead they toughened you up, so that even
Drama is intolerable, like this is your 1,000th
Broadway show, and the cakewalk ain't boffo
Chateau, for Homie don't play that no more.
And it is to them you owe your bubble,
Which rose from the first act of violence,
The no they forced, against all odds.
Gone is the person you once thought they'd be,
Structured and not self-absorbed completely
And out for blood. In this place is who they are,
Now seen keenly, eyes that endure their own compassion.
You see how hard it is to stand alone in the world
That suddenly, inexplicably, finally makes you
Feel that you belong in it.
