Maybe if I paint my lips red
I’ll forget I’m hallow
And maybe if I put on
My favorite skinny jeans
I’ll know what it means to feel
pretty
I’ll remember that
I have tomorrow
And the clinching in my chest
Meant to jest at my own demise
And the way I despise myself
Won’t always show in sad blue water eyes
I can’t hide at the back of the shelf.
I can’t  be stifled by my own sorrow,
Let me borrow your sunshine,
I’ll bring mine tomorrow.

i've been told time and time again that
we are made of stardust, to the point where it's
not even poetic anymore, it's just
science. and while they're something beautiful in
chemical reactions and the attraction between
us and the earth's core, there is nothing beautiful
about the way biology was ruined for me
in seventh grade when we dissected frogs and i realized
that's actually what we look like inside-
we don't house constellations or milky ways or anything
worth staring at
                            (but even still, i couldn't look away).

i wonder if there's any chance of us being rescued from our flesh,
i wonder if maybe one day after we're turned to dust
again, our remnants will break free of earth's gravity
and we'll get the chance to be stars once more.

(i wonder if the reason we reach towards the sky at night
is because we can feel our brothers calling us back home)