i am not made of stardust

when i was a child, i was told we were made of stardust.
i used to spend countless summers pretending -
pretending that we were in our 1000th summer;
dreaming of being floating girls whose feet would never quite stay on the ground.

but childhood must end and so must the pretending.
and with growing up sometimes comes
trauma
heart break
abuse
neglect
and even
one-sided love.

i pushed through the mud - that swallowing despair.
i pushed through the grit - that angry heartbreak.
i reached out and gasped for air and,
by myself,
i stood up on my own two feet.

i am not made of stardust.
i am so much more.

w o n d e r

I wonder when you began to hate me.

We were incandescent, immortal, invincible… Together we could have taken over the world. Or, at least, that’s what I always thought.  That’s what you always said. 

Until you didn’t anymore.

During those three years - the three years we were always flying too close to the sun - I watched as your eyes changed:

from fascination to admiration

from resignation to regret

Did my eyes mirror the same emotions? Did mine give me away as easily as yours did?

I remember the late nights we would spend together, drinking pink wine and watching old movies, our legs bare and tangled together under your comforter that smelled of dirt and lavender.  The bed was never made and the room reflected that.  It was a reflection of you, you told me.  A free-spirit, a creative soul. 

But to me it just always looked messy.

I guess the most important question is: 

when did I begin to hate you?

twenty years ago.

you were single-handedly the most heinous force in my life.
the lies,
the excuses,
the manipulation,
the loss.

you were not my hurricane but you were my forest fire.
you left nothing.
no room for
regrowth,
maturity,
second chances.

& you are the reason that i was burned alive.
but you forgot

i am a phoenix.

; & -

the cosmic darkness ironically illuminated every good thing;
good intentions, good dreams, good meanings -
thoughts and words and places
all illuminated by a vast light while humanity
groped
through
the darkness.
men or angels, carried with divine might;
pure hearts, pure thoughts & pure souls -
smiles and joy too far out of reach for us as we
stumbled
through
the darkness.
when their bright lights dimmed;
and their smiles faded -
they were forced to see the same as us.

and then they too were lost in the darkness.

the witch

the witch has a gift for me.

her vial glistens in the moonlight as she hands it over and i can feel the warning from the trees.
i ignore them and take it into my hand.

"give this to him and you will be free."

i don't need more instructions,
i don't need more explanations.
i don't need more motives.

i just need to be. 

gone.

i have an obsession with disappearing.

this obsession grips me by its roots,
holding me down and suffocating me with its imperial screams and persuasive devices.
i do not exist.
the skin on my body is not real,
the muscles the sinew the bone
all of these thoughts in my head
are void of reality.

sometimes i can feel my invisibility
in that moment when i am see-through.
if you reached out to touch me,
your hand would go right through.

nothingness.
a dream stuck in an endless cycle.
smoke and mirrors and glass cages.

in the haze of my sanity i can at least make clear
that it's not reality that's fading:
it's me.

tattoo

the party is exclusive, you told me;
a boyish grin crinkles up your face.
I lay on my back, void of clothing.
I hate you and I hate me and I hate this.
you've bought me a dress, strapless, backless;
gold as sin and red as blood.
But those are your words.
I slip it on, and your mothers earrings jingle
as I grip your arm and force a smile.
words blossom against my back,
but they are not meant for you.