song of myself, second installment

5
The child, he never liked control,
which is why he left home when he was sixteen, when he was only a boy,
but protesting control also lost him the love that had held him up for sixteen years,
so it really comes down to this: what matters more, his values or his health?
His answer means nothing; no matter how far he runs, no matter how loudly he shouts,
once he's fallen to earth, he'll never be able to touch the tops of trees again.

6
The dancer, he was never really sure of himself,
so he's always on the move, looking for something he's sure he likes,
because any sort of foundation would be welcome;
he's praised for his grace of movement,
but no one seems to catch the fact that he only moves because he can't stop himself from moving.

7
The saint, he's spent too many years singing hymns,
sleeping on ice floes, trying to keep breathing,
because he was given a heart the size of the sun that's burning up his insides
in its eagerness to tell the world it exists.
But there are dead men in the sky,
and they're not so forgiving these days.

8
I have a dream that one day,
the content of my character will not be so deserving of discrimination.

9
A young man screamed, "we are merely degenerates,"
and I believed him;
we are rotting out from our insides while the abyss claws away our bells and whistles;
submerged in a great black fear, we clambered up onto this island
where there are cannibals hiding beneath the sand
and there is no respite, there is no respite, because all around us is a wide expanse of
vines that will burden us,
craters that will swallow us up,
and our mouths are dry from waiting.