the maddest woman this town has ever seen. calliope, speech.

i can't lose hope
what's left of my heart's still made of gold

"I'm nervous," Calliope confesses into the microphone, staring at her gently trembling hands before raising her face to the crowd. "I've never been a very good politician. Everyone knows that. It's been a decade since this community elected me and I haven't stopped being as surprised as I am grateful, because we all know that my standing here doesn't really make sense. I'm a high school dropout. When I started this I was too poor to print up leaflets or make yard signs and that was okay because I didn't know people who had yards and they only knew me if they had a good memory for televised tragedy. When we threw a party that election night we held it in the streets because that's what I could afford and that was one of the few places I was ever welcome."

"So much time has passed and I've figured out a lot of things. Experience has certainly made me a better mayor, but I think maybe I'm a worse politician than ever. That... probably sounds ridiculous to anyone who remembers me knocking at their door when I was just barely twenty, not having bothered to brush my hair and asking to hear personal complaints instead of rattling off campaign promises. Some of you were even better at ranting than I am," she laughs quietly, her face scrunched up with the memories. "Now here I am! Wearing a —" She has to cheat and glance down. "— blazer! I showered before coming to talk to you all and everything. I know that shouldn't be something I ever needed someone to tell me, but back then I didn't have a very kind and thoughtful secretary reminding me to eat, sleep, and bathe from time to time instead of working myself to useless filth. I..."

There's a deep breath and a long pause for summoning her courage. "What I'm trying to say is that I've struggled over and over to write a speech for today and instead I wrote an apology. All of you know that I've never been someone to make promises. I've only ever stood up here and told you what I hope for, always worried that it's too much because I've been taught that hope is dangerous and so often... so often that has been true for me. My frustration, my anger over that is what motivated me. I care about this community and I want the best for everyone, but I'm also selfish. I wanted to be the person who punched the ceiling. I wanted to be the one to kick doors down. I wanted a megaphone to scream at all the big, important people wearing dumb, fancy suits who tried to con me into believing that I was voiceless. That any of us are."

"The things I hope for the most these days are not things that any job title could give me power over and, for that, I am so sorry. I desperately want to tell you that I have somehow drawn up paperwork that prevents explosions or that I'll be unveiling a new program to foresee the unforeseeable. A good politician would lie and promise you the world — both the world we lost and a shining new world we have always deserved. It would sound so easy. I won't do it," she admits plainly and she means it. "I won't lie to you. Our community was attacked and I wish I could undo the unspeakable loss just as much as I wish I could promise nothing like that will happen to us or anyone else ever again."

"The terrible truth is that I cannot draft a law to provide this community with inner strength — I can only offer you my own, just as I can only hope that you offer me yours in return. I am not much and I do not know how to pretend to be. I am truly sorry that I cannot be a solution to everything; no individual can. In that respect, I have less power than you. I've always had less power than you. No person in this world has more power than a community that stands together. I'm not saying that we should join hands and sing Kumbaya, just as I'm not apologizing simply for not being enough in this moment in time. I'm apologizing because I understand that many of you wish to turn to me, but instead here I am turning to all of you."