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perhaps what i've been feeling is what it is to be human, after all; like i'm made of stars some days and dust on the others.
stars on days when i hear full belly laughs and feel my heart beat faster inside my chest, and dust on the days when i hate the sound of my own breathing. stars on days when i use 'perhaps' in real conversations, and dust on days when my pride comes before my desire to improve does. stars on days when something as simple as the aroma of fresh coffee puts out the fire of unease inside my brain, dust on days when i allow the jitters in my belly grow just so i can find out how far they would go.
stars on days when i remember that my once 2 am thoughts are now hidden amidst stories i spin with the tips of my fingers. when my dog presses her nose against my stomach in her sleep because what's mere skin to me is warmth and home to her, and 'don't move', my brain whispers, like accidentally waking her up would be the most terrible thing in the world right now. when i pray for people even though i've never looked at the sky and believed there's someone taking note of it all. when i look at my reflection and believe that my eyes are made of poetry verses and excerpts of books i wish i had written.
dust on days when i accidentally run my fingers across the bumps of my scars and quickly pull away as if burned. when i waste my heartbeats trying not to disappoint every faceless person i'm surrounded by. when i chase happy endings that are neither mine, nor real. when i despise people for singing about hope while the world crumbles in the background. when i feel that split second of comfort in not being the only person miserable about something, before the guilt overpowers it all and tries to desperately drag me back where the stars are.
maybe this is what it means to be human. in the 'it is what it is'-es, and in-betweens of the stars and the dust. to be made of questions that people asked you that you had no answers to. to cling onto little things and be okay for a little while before you go back to not being okay for a little while. to love people and still not like them. to know that you deserve kindness as well and still find it hard to be friends with yourself. to find it hard coming to terms with the fact that every living, breathing being around you—big and small, young and old—is trying their best.
to wish for more, more, more. more happiness. more warmth. more of everything that reminds you to breathe. to sometimes believe that sad endings are, in fact, realer. to be in dire need of the reminder that love is born into every human being.
to be made of stardust
as a whole
and not one
or the other.
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*again and again in the same way; forever
YOU ARE READING
delirium
Poetrywhen the darkness outside my window turns gloomier than the one inside me, the words embedded in my chest sparkle like jewels. || poetry collection. ©️2019 by auro m.
