the star was hers
but not now.
maybe tomorrow?
or never.

she doesn't own
the star,
it owns her
how?
she hasn't freed
herself
from the beautiful,
sun-painted
aurora.

yet,
life never ended
with the star.

life started with
the star.

it made her feel
it made her smile
it made her cry
it made her afraid
it made her strong.

her worth was
the worth of others.

she doesn't need
the heavenly teachings
coming from stars itself,
she needed her
to teach herself.

all recent poems
were directed towards
the star,
none was for her,
but,
today marks
that the words
are from her
to her.

no simple
to composite
poetry
can match,
no mediocre
to elite
songs
can thank the stars,
but only
the progress,
the growth,
the strength,
and the happiness
of hers.

vengeance differs.
may it be
good or bad.
no rulebook is
ever needed, dearest
lads.