Roll up.

Raise your hands. Any woman,
Man, who has tried to take
To the skies with a blade
And a bottle of bitter.

Anyone who has traced veins,
Taken biology in a bathtub
With a speaker. Those who
Lost their love for the weaker.

Stand up, those who brandish
The strain of age, the stain
Of youth. Those who'd had
A good enough look.

Join hands, those who have
taken a shine to wristbands,
Who once saw the tide go in,
leaving red on porcelain.

Those who have pink rubbery hit
Where their fists meet their sleeves,
Who lie to people with ease about
That cat. That bramble bush. That shit.

Get together, tell me, where were
They, those who aren't at our palms,
When we were in silence, staining
Towels. Painting arms. Looking around.

When we were panicked, red,
Submersed in our wine and bread
In the early hours. Late,
When we finally hit the ground.

They were safe,
Tucked up in bed,
Sound.