Stars

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My heart is a comet,
A chaos of battered ice trailing
Bright tails across my bruised skies,
All contradiction and complication and old pains
Hurtling a billion miles an hour around the sun,
Screaming “Wait!”
Screaming “This heart is too soft a thing to be
Thrust so fast into such a violent spin!”
Comets spell omens of disaster from the
Misplaced letters of “bad star”;
I guess that makes sense.
Humans are terrible messengers.
We never remember the right parts,
And every pass close to the sun melts another
Frozen moment from this fragile heart.
But I made my wings from wax and
Eventually begin to come undone.
I can’t figure out what to hold on to,
What things to let fly.
Newton said humans have never figured out
How to get somewhere without leaving something behind…
The defined features of a face, a laugh,
The quiet murmur of a half-song sung low,
The tastes and glow of a hundred hot simmering summers,
But what am I if not striving to move forward?
So these memories are flung towards
Pulsars shimmering faster than hummingbirds…
And they slide unheard into the bell jar of a black hole.
If my heart is a comet, then your soul is a star.
I look up to give myself a
Sense of being small,
To find something otherworldly in the wilderness,
To feel the vast eye of all the Universe
Peering down at me.
But so many of those souls
Went dark billions of years
Before their light reached me,
This light the last vestige of life,
The last proof they were once alive.
I sleep beneath a graveyard,
I’m staring at a sky full of ghosts,
Making wishes on the bones of the dead.
But you…
You are still gone,
I am still here.
And I am still small.
I get smaller every year.

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