I am a girl that calls herself a planet.

I do this because I look around and I see that I don't belong. I first thought it was the world that was different, but as I grow older I see that it is I that differs. The things I like are deemed weird. I speak with blunt force and honesty- but in this society that is looked down upon. I am not what beautiful is defined to be. In fact, I'm the exact opposite. So, I choose not to be seen.

Yet, I want to be wanted. Though being wanted is unattainable for a planet like me. I have a house, but not a home. I have parents and siblings, but not a family. I have people to talk to, but not friends. I am alone. It's not that I feel too small for this world, it is that I feel too big. I'm not good around people. So, I must be alone for the better of society. And I'm afraid, that I will be alone for the rest of my life.

That is the burden of being a planet; remaining untouchable.

They become names
Like the rims of baked-bean tins
That have to be handled with care

They are a bunch of flowers
Tied to a lamppost
Or a bench with words carved in

They are a Wikipedia page
Or a library shelf
Or a nothing
A nobody

They swell into memories
Wilted and swimming like wax
They seem to be stood there
When the sunlight blusters
Over dust
Because dust is just dead cells
That we all inhale
Exhale
Like we’ll choke them back into existence

They reside in half-empty
Boxes of tissues
Cigarette packets
The bubbles in lemonade

They become a mantelpiece of photographs
And sympathy cards
Broken toys
Empty T-shirts that you’ll try to turn into puppets
Sat in their wardrobe

They fall into certain songs
Certain car journeys
Occasionally they borrow your tongue
To continue voicing certain phrases
Certain people
Certain places
Certain rooms
Certain tastes
Certain seasons
Certain sunsets

Or maybe they just toss and turn
Beneath the church built of handkerchiefs
Like commuters coffined into underground trains
Wondering whether they can still believe
In tunnels
And golden lights.

somewhere between the moon and the horizon I saw stars that reassured me things would be okay. there was rain on my skin, drops resting on his hands holding me tightly. i felt the rain and for the first time i stopped waiting for its end. lost in his grip the clouds seemed so thin. i could not see the stars tonight but i sure as hell knew they were there. you can learn a lot from the sky. something tells me the storm will soon pass and the clouds will blow over, and i know no better than to trust it. misty nights can feel so different when you are not the one raining. dewy mornings and wilted flowers aren't always a sign of the end. the cold feels so different with company; it's as if somehow the loneliness felt a lot like wind. winter's over now and i hear heat rises so it's no wonder we feel it all the way up here. and i wonder how he does it, how with every word he speaks the stars look a little brighter. i have this feeling that his stars are different, they will not burn out and they will not hide and when they fall i will not blame them, he will write a new galaxy. it's amazing how such a cosmic boy could wind up in my sky after countless years of hopeless gazing. i think we're floating now; cloud 9's never felt more like home.

Yes, sir.
Yes, m'am and thank you.
These are words as children's we strictly knew.
They reflect the parents that raised you.

But today, you must wonder.
Truly wonder, with the yeah and the what?
Words, you took back soon as possible.

But today, you must wonder.

Spoil , that was simply a definition word.
And many of us kept our temperamental attitude in check.
Mom and dad didn't play that.

But today, things seem to change.
Well, not completely.
There are some still raising  their child the old fashion way.

Why do we let authoritarians rule?
Why don't we just mock them
as we sit back and enjoy the show?