I gave you my word,
Wrapped it up in cellophane so it would never lose meaning,
Enveloped in the kitchen draw where you placed for safe keeping.
And now when you read my poems with another preserving your touch
You'll realise you had all my words-
One was not enough.

Swimming against the stream.
The waters have a malicious gleam.
I let out a frustrated scream.
As I am pulled downstream.
But then I wake up and realize, it was just a dream.

I
could
shower
myself
in
stardust
and
I
still
wouldn't
shine
as
bright
as
her*


                              B.S.

Sometimes,
in the dark.
There is a note,
stuck to the door.
It is cut into the shape of a flower
& reads more like a thorn.
"I don't want to be stuck."
You only ever told me it once,
when it could have been a hundred times.

There are sins of ømission
And there's sins of **comission

She’s falling in love with a boy named after a star.
I say, “How poetic.”
She says, “I’m not sure how to love a star.
I’ve never done this before.”

I don’t tell her about the star I spent all of last summer staring at.
The star that glowed so brilliantly
that I forgot about the pain in my neck
from gazing upwards for a whole season.
I forgot that I was in a land of meteor showers.
I convinced myself of a rearranged solar system.

I don’t tell the girl about to jump about the fall.
The Fall when I fell and fell and kept wondering when I would hit the ground.
The winter when I had nowhere else to go and my heart felt
like it was constantly hitting rock bottom and bouncing back up,
only to crash down again with greater force.
People who listen closely enough say they can still hear echoes
of my heart breaking every time I look up to the night sky.

Natalie, she’s always had her head in the clouds.
She swallows zodiac signs without any salt.
She feels safest on the outer edges of the Milky Way.
I don’t want her to think I am afraid of the sky.
I almost show her my scars-
Deep blue nebulae on the bottoms of my feet
from when I tried to run her out of me;
Black holes eclipsing missing memories
from when I tried to smoke her out of me;
Constellations of twisted veins in my hands
from when I tried to write her out of me.
It still isn’t quite working.

But I promise, I’m not afraid of the sky.
I’m just afraid of leaping
into an atmosphere with
too little oxygen or too much gravity.
Everything in moderation, I think to myself.
Stop searching for telescopes
that will kiss your eyelids.
They measure success
in how far away they can get.
Even some of the most intimate cosmic embraces
can start to feel like long-distance light-years
before you ever thought possible.

The best way to see a star
is to look right beside it
and let it soak into your peripheral vision.
Do not let your pupils become too attached to the darkness.

Finally, I sigh and tell her,
“I have no map of the galaxy.
I might have, at one point, been able to draw you one,
but I always leave too soon.
I still can’t sleep since realizing
that stars burn out long before
we ever see their light.”