Did they mention your birthright was
the world itself?
Did they tell you, the day you were born,
the stars gave you a name,
casting it down to your cradle?

Did you know you were made to dream,
to create worlds with every stroke?
It was their best and worst mistake—
to hand you a paintbrush. Or did they know,
you could translate dreams onto paper?

And you dreamed,
of course—
dreamed of pulling down clouds,
of building castles tall enough
to kiss the stars. But—
"Not yet," they said,
"Let her grow stronger,
brighter,
brilliant—so bright the stars
will envy her light,
and ****** her from the ground
to join their constellations."

Dream more, girl—
the sky says hello.