It is said that the stars are merely
balls of heat and light;
a result of calculated explosions
and well timed sparks.
But I reject that.
I reject the thought of the countless
wishes I’ve made upon falling stars
to be nothing more than overly optimistic
worlds laced with mindless equations.
My hands have burned countless times
so my dreams could be validated by the likes of you
My skin has bore witness
to the chill of black holes.
Black holes that have attempted
to suck the life out of me.
Don’t you dare tell me
my dreams have lost their fire.
How do you think I fought my way out of the dark?
I shaped my own galaxies dwelling within my life.
that do not need solid facts from textbooks to thrive.
I have lifted them with my own breath;
fed them with pure flesh and blood.
My scars and burns can testify to that.
I have given birth to planets
when I’ve barely lived myself.
There were times
when I saw myself to be a white dwarf;
such a scene of destruction to behold.
But I tore my hand away from the eruption
and wrote my dreams upon the sky.
Our ancestors have built their world around God-given stars.
I forge my own stars within my skin,
nobody can tell me otherwise.
I seem to have stumbled across a bit of writers block. Although only a small pebble in my life it’s beginning to dull my writing. Until it’s cleared up, I’ll be taking requests, lovelies.