…
to the stars

And
…to whoever,
i guess.

There’s something golden
in the ivory of godhood.
and in it,
there is some sort of freedom
embodied only by those who weep.

In a way, weeping
is the only form of liberation:
liberation of the soul
into the wings of the gorgeous.
and the beautiful,
and who you caress gently at night in love.

…
to the feathered pillows
who had caught my tears;
and to the blankets
which had irritated by cheeks,
rubbing the salt in a slowly opening wound.
and the cracking skin
where the pain crept in.
and your nails that traced my drought
like tipped needles searching for places to sew.

To you, out there
with your liberating stare
and penetrating glare.
With your eyes without wear
and a weight too heavy to bear,
hold me down,

And tear.

at the soul of whoever inside me.

Because I say, “to the stars,”

Only since I am before you now.