music poetry WRITING

s t a r / d u s t

“There is something about riding a unicorn, for those people who still can, which is unlike any other experience: exhilarating, and intoxicating, and fine.” ― Neil Gaiman

Grandmother told me to wear bloomers, but this was before she recognized me as a flower.
 
Wilting to her, I shed petals in her bedroom, and slept in stems of false recognition.

Do you know what it feels like to wake up in a pod as an unrecognizable seed?

No one waters you.

Not out of neglect, but in ignorance to the flowering of your nature purposely invisible to them.

Droop.

This is what you learn to do to fit in. 

Droop. Softly and in powdered rainbow hues.

But eventually the sun makes you an outcast – rising you to places not recognized for acquiescence to protocol.

They don’t know what you are so call you Stardust, not realizing you breathe without air, and love without reason.

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