they consider this constellation the closest one to
earth, easily able to be seen by the naked eye. it
illuminates vividly, a composition of splattered
hot blue on a black canvas. or to our eyes, white.

the first time i noticed the star cluster, my eyes
started to unconsciously look for it every night.
when i first looked through a lens to view that
constellation, it surprised me that it wasn't white
stars after all. in fact, it was a deep ocean blue.

that's why you can't tell me that i'm like the sun
because even though i shine visibly and keep you
warm, my touch is white hot. it's safer if i can see
you and know you're safe, rather than touch you.

- kra

things have become sentient, lively, breathing
lately - blossoming violently like wildflowers
and chrysanthemums - suppressing the never
ending void sitting in my stomach. things like
anxiety haven't disappeared - like the green of
jealousy - like the green of sickness that i get
when my best-friend complex comes into play.
i have been having trouble developing myself
into a home. instead, i've been lighting forest
fires watching these trees transfer over into
death. i have been dependent on lighthouses
to guide me to safety. there are people i ask
for to guide me home, but they're in the line
of fire. it's between one important body or
thousands of bodies. i have not been able
to grow enough to avoid choosing mind
over matter. things have become harder,
suffocating, and more complex lately, but
i'm finally whole. for the first time in my
life, i'm a butterfly. of course, this always
comes with a price - with chained feet.

- kra

our favorite game starts with the introduction
of an hurricane. usually storms are depicted in
dreams as sinewy turbulence swelling up, a rough
beginning, and the ending result of the story is
where something is lost. the storm takes something.
mother nature will not give mercy to the kindest
of us humans.

the safety point is a lighthouse, that promise
of light at the end of the tunnel. i have always
stuck to the shadows instead of reaching out
towards the light, stuck with the desire and
fear of change, but you shot out like a startled
deer. you – of all people – bring color to the
chiaroscuro painted world. i – of all people –
stir up storms in people and seem to leave
behind only wreckage and skeletons. there
is a light shining through you which careens
through my skin instead of ricocheting off
of me.

our wavelengths mimic each other some days,
but i have a storm roaring through my skin that
i’m afraid to let anyone get a glimpse at. if
my exoskeleton ever was torn down by anyone,
the storm would remember to bury me in the
remaining rubble and shrapnel left behind.

mother nature will not scare me anymore,
and i will start at ground zero and build
myself upwards towards cloud nine and
beyond. something is lost, but there is
always something gained from loss.

- kra

i think about all the insurmountable times i have
watched myself shave off the bark of my skin
to watch others thrive and blossom violently like
wildflowers and chrysanthemums. i think of how
you have always been a tree – tall, mighty, powerful
- with roots that don't seem to make mine feel like
weeds. teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.
i dream of worlds made of jasmine and honeysuckle,
of utopias devoid of the bark i've shaved off my back.
i dream of sap that feels a little less like magma and
a lot more like maple syrup. i dream of roots that
doesn't feel like granite and completely calcified.
teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.

i.
lone wolves wear solitude around their necks like a medallion, but also a chain, a collar, tying their strength down.

ii.
some hide solitude in their ribcages or build forts, ***** walls. the desperation shines through the cracks.

iii.
many wear the solitude on their shoulders like heavy cloaks, attempting to block out the cold and rain, but only weighing themselves down.

iv.
people have dragged it around like a troublesome child. they want to be rid of it, shove on someone else to deal with, but they grip it tight.

v.
i've seen some spin solitude into a thread so fine you can barely see it, and tie it around their life like a noose. pulling it tight, they use this solitude to stitch their life into a tidy package .

the moon knows.

she has seen countless confessions in her light, watched life and death alike, and judged none of it. the moon is the one who will not whisper your secrets to the stars. she is just a reflection, after all. limited by her existence.

the sun is the one who will betray you, will turn his back on you, will scream everything you've done to everyone awake to hear. the sun shines and does not care if you burn beneath him.

the moon does not care, either, but she is not vindictive, and for that, we tell her things the sun will never know.

didn't anyone tell you that the moon can keep a secret?

she is not the sun.