delightful colorful
constellating memory warm
starshine in winter

                         /#dmperez

She is a star wrapped up in human form,
Unknown to herself
Unseen by those around her.

A cell dividing into itself, pulled her in
Around it,
Then, through it as it divided around her white light.

Growing up, nothing is remembered.
She may run too fast,
Sometimes sing in voices only trees can hear,
But human she is to herself.

What would it be like,
You think?
To be made of starlight,
To reach out hands in mother’s garden
Teasing brown and broken to green,
To walk barefoot on snow
Or searing blacktop and laugh softly.

Somehow, no one sees the angel inside the girl,
The one with hair of autumn leaves
And eyes of river blue.

She is the softness of pillow feathers,
Tickling your nose and your toes as
You both laugh under covers.

She is the glacier snow,
The ice monster,
Burying you alive under the frozen river.

She is the snow,
Delicately complex, yet
Melting at the slightest touch.

Most importantly, most truthfully,
She is everything.
Every color and emotion,
Tucked away in white starlight.

winter wind
and sunset colored
laughter too
sink in it like moonlight
gets you smudged
into the starlight
cause when you’re alive
there’s nothing like
that faith, that light

you are
the draining of my day
only thing that makes it okay

half-brightened in starlight's silver stream,
pulsing like the gentle whisper of your dream;
pulled from the cradle of spring's bright
and tucked into winter's evernight.

i am a girl
and he is a star
and there are so, so many girls just like me
that it seems very silly to want him.

i am a fan, in love with his voice:
with the curls of his hair:
with the gentle dips of his smile and the uproarious sound of his laugh:
i am a fan, but i am one of so many thousands
that it would be silly to dream about him.

he is a star, crash-landed on earth,
galactic-bright grin and planet-colored eyes,
so many personalities that he slips
in and out of every one
like they're clothes, like a game, like they're breathing--
and i could never know all or any of them
but that doesn't stop me from wanting to.

he is my nebula, flung farther from me
than a string of adorations could cross
in a lifetime, in ten, in ten thousand;
so close, sometimes, when the timing is right
but still more distant than a million twinkling galaxies.

till i find my own brilliant sun
he will shine in my sad-thoughts like a dream;
and they will say, oh, i love him, he's wonderful
i will bite back the heartache he's too good to bear
and i'll say, yes, i know.

he's celestial.