i am an open wound, the guilt that
you feel after, who you try to hide by covering
your arms. bracelets and jackets and long
pants conceal my identity, and i wish to be
forgotten.

i long to
be normal, i long to be clean
like begging boys, stranded.
i want to be fixed, i want to not
beg to burn hotter than
the light that guides me north
whenever i feel anything that remotely
tickles my heart.

i belong to sharp stars, my favorite
addiction but what some people enjoy ignoring,
slashing through my
skin yet so appealing and beautiful that
i want to devote my life to them.

dear sky, please stop
dropping what is yours

my tears are like a meteor shower
that ends up hurting worse than ever before,
breaking my outer barrier, skinning me until i feel something,
until i feel in control

my laughter is only a distraction,
a facade that i assign to myself because the
last thing i was to be is a bother to someone, to make their
stars fall as well

my heart inside me aches
and sometimes
i can’t control it. i finally let someone
witness
my stars falling like a
dead man from battle hardly
brought to life by a thrashing parachute and
unforgiving wind and
i see their sky try to grab them
but the hot metal is too heavy

above me are the falling stars
and below me are the bloodied remains
my mask begins to slip and shred
until all i know is pain