These
Stars
These stars
these mother ******* stars
are glaring at me
through the shield of a sharp November night
like my mom used to
when I stuck my finger in the brownie batter

“Who are you to judge me?!”
I scream
my arms spread like butter
my breath rattling like a snake

“Who says you are god?!”
“Who says I am man?!”
“Am I not god of myself?!”

I breathe out a cloud
the cold air solidifies
proof of the hot blood in my veins

I’m no god (I know, I’m no god)

I lie on the cold grass
and the starlight shrouds my face
I fall asleep to the whispers
of the wind and the woods.
I wonder which star is you.

My fingers dig into the dirt
at least, for now
I had this.