Raise A Glass
Here’s to the broken people.
Here’s to you and me and the rest.
Here’s to hearts and souls
That beat and scream
And want nothing more than to be heard.
Here’s to us,
The runaways and the latchkeys,
The unloveables who are no longer unloved,
Because we’ve found our collective.
Here’s to letting our hearts beat on,
Now beating a cry that will move the world,
And here’s to letting our souls keep screaming,
Now calling forth a revolution that will shake the ground.
Here’s to a puzzle built of pieces
So bruised and broken that it can be called abstractly beautiful
As an encompassing whole.
Here’s to leaving our old places that we have outgrown,
And here’s to new places that we don’t yet fit into.
Here’s to sobbing in a locked bathroom
Because we don’t have a place to call home,
And here’s to laughing late into the night
In the places we were meant to be.
Here’s to old books and old souls and oldies-but-goodies.
Here’s to cheap champagne,
And here’s to bruised peaches bought on sale
From an altogether questionable produce stand.
Here’s to one-way train tickets,
Because a tangle of kids can’t afford round-trip,
And here’s to the marvel of their childishness
Mingled with their unfathomed maturity
As they speak in broken poetry when they first see the city lights
Through the grimy windows.
Here’s to our spirits,
Marred and muddled so many times,
But that are bathed in golden light right now.
Here’s to all of us who have held ropes
And razor blades
And fragile lives in our trembling fingers
And are still here and hearing
Through aching ears a beating heart.
Here’s to telling stories and hearing stories.
Here’s to laughter and wracked-shoulder crying.
Here’s to all of this and more,
Because life is a glorious thing to have.
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