At A Show
You sing loudly along with the crowd and with the band.
by Benjamin Feliciano
You lose track of your voice and forget what you sound like.
You leave a little bit of who you are behind,
Mingled in the sweat and scent of beer.
Sometimes it just feels so damn good to be no one.
And everyone you hated and judged from afar becomes you,
And you them.
And you're no one, but you're everyone.
And the pushing and churning in the center of the floor is you.
It's your thoughts, your anger, your desire to belong.
You are the centrifuge that separates fate and free will.
You are an ill-fated, free-thinking, all-encompassing truth;
And you are fiction.
You are the obnoxious pre-teen, the jaded hipster,
The hot tween that doesn't actually know the band but makes good eye candy,
You are the side pit-er who maintains a safe perimeter,
You are the one who falls,
And you are the one who helps the fallen;
You are everything, and you are nothing.
At the end of the night you are wind that turns sweat
Into an icy coolant that sends chills down spines
But feels like a sacred blessing known only by you.
You are nothing but yourself,
And everyone else.