I used to think the stars were untouchable. Even on my father's shoulders, I barely reached the clouds. And let's be honest, my pockets were overfilled with earthworms and dandelions. But then you were there, fading in and out of my life at will. I emptied my pockets of childish groves and filled them with prayers scared you would go shooting off across the sky, leaving me in your burned out trail. Maybe you found me a bit bizarre, eyes wide as telescopes. Yet, I could see you clearer than anyone else. But when I put a ring around you, you no longer felt like a star. The Saturn-like ring weighed you down and your passion burned out. There's reason passions are plenty, like stars they dot across darkness. I was never meant to hold a star. I know that now. Far too many have already burned out. I guess some things are better to admire from afar.
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AuthorCorrie Thompson is a writer, blogger, avid reader, and photographer. Follow her poetry on instagram: @mis.underwood Archives
July 2023
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