Looking around my room
I see the plastic stars
I pasted up so long ago, and remember
a whispered wish, a quiet idea
of how everything
could be ok, back when
that was still
seemingly possible, back before
bitterness tinged my smile, and I learned
to be cautious. Looking around
my room, if you look
closely enough,
young handwriting
on one of the plastic ornaments
which adorn my walls
and ceiling, reads-
'I wish:...
"under the stars."
Be careful
what you wish for.'