The crowd didn’t flinch

watching her on stage

too small for what they wanted her to hold.

Her hair was black

short

too brushed

clinging to her head in oily patches.

Maybe she thought if her hair was neat enough

they’d see her.

She stood

shoulders bent

arms hanging like willows branches

dressed in a loose summer dress and an oversized black sweater.

She was just kid

at a black-tie gala

planted in the center of their cathartic theatre.

Her eyes were swollen

from crying.

Her brother stood close

hand on her shoulder

just reminding her that he was there.

Once the band finished

she told her story.

Every word pried open their hearts.

Every silence filled with sounds-

chairs shifting

noses sniffing

throats clearing.

When it ended

Of course they clapped.

They didn’t understand

but they needed to.

She dissolved

barefoot through the side door.

They didn’t notice

cocktails and guilt mixing neatly in their hands.

In her absence

others stood beaming

beneath the white hot spotlight

drenched in false humility

faces tilted toward praise

like sunflowers.

Not one moved to follow her.

She was the lantern.

They stood in her light.

Her truth burned too hot-

she ran-

they drank-

they donated-

and they smiled for the photos

when she was gone.

She was a soft bodied girl

offering up the pain

of her marshmallow heart

not knowing they would all forget her name

by morning.