When they tell you you are made of stars, do not let them forget what stars are made of. Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling, not there for decoration. Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces that consume their surroundings into death. They are not friendly; they do not exist to write poems about. Stars are not made of metaphors. You are not made of other people’s words.
When they tell you you are made of stars. look them in the eye and remind them that so are they, and so is the earth, and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes, and so is the fist you will hit them with the next time they try to placate you with their condescending words – When they tell you you are different from others, ask them why you should want to be.
Do not let them call you foreign. Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal, surrounded by books that cannot hurt them. Read things that can hurt them. Your mind is a forest richer than folklore; do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory. Your intelligence is not a fashion statement. Your existence is not a novelty. You are not a metaphor for someone else’s problems.
When they tell you you are made of stars, tell them you have always known this. Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow, that you are burning with the deaths of the entire universe before you.
When they tell you you are made of stars, tell them you know. Tell them they should keep their distance.