everyone always dances to the radio

and i stand still in some ridiculous affirmation of

how good i've became

(and they can tell it's bullshit

because i came to work high

again). they tell me about fathers gone,

mothers drunk, brothers locked up,

lives missing. and i try not to say anything about

fathers poor, boyfriends abusing,

friends lost. but it all comes out, and by the end

they know i'm bi and that i smoke

and even though i'm high again, i'll remember:

these are our secrets.