There, the memories
Will always rush to my head
With the bitter stab of nostalgia:
Screaming, barefoot, through a hippie church
In the starry black sky of the early morning.
Piano blasting, rising isolated spirits.
The community that may hit your vulnerability hardest,
And bring you to heart-gripping tears,
But pledge to stay with you
Through the endless hours of torture
Until you feel safe again.
I look at the people around me
And want so badly to help them--
What is the point of life
Without a misfit community
To wrap you in its arms, and
Abolish your strife?