The Star and Her Moon (Full Poem)

POSTED May 18, 2020

The Star

&

Her Moon

 

Universe

&

Star

 

His eyes find mine

at the party.

I am

L

     O

   S

         T

In his star-filled gaze.

– and suddenly, he is the only thing 

  that matters.

We start a passionate conversation

about stars,

and universes,

and in the middle of

explaining that he might just be

my universe,

his eyes 

find the valley 

between my breasts.

– I cannot help but think,

  that maybe my two planets,

  are his universe

  and the valley between them,

  is just his way

  of following the 

  gravitational

  path

  leading 

  to my Innocent

  Star.

    (Boys always loved fantasizing

    about taking advantage

    of what was vulnerable 

    and important on a girl,

    didn’t they?)

I tell him that

I am not that type 

of girl.

His gaze flicks up, 

finds my eyes once more

and I am lost in that universe

while he tells me,

No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.

You’re just beautiful,

that’s all.

– If only I had known

  that his version

  of beauty

  was

  bodies

  umoving

  on

  beds

  and

  stars

  dripping 

  red.

Somehow

naive little me,

believes him.

– I guess

  I forgot 

  about the stories of girls

  getting raped

  at parties,

  drunk,

  while losing myself

  in his universe-gaze.

While  he  hands  me 

another cup of throat-

burning liquid, he 

says he wants to

show me some-

thing. -Why, do

I go with him?

He leads me upstairs,

into a bedroom,

onto a bed.

When his hand finds my thigh,

I wonder

if this is okay.

If him,

touching me,

is okay.

The thought is lost,

the second his fingers

brush my face,

thumb finding my lips,

brushing them.

– I

  want

  to

       R

     U

    N,

                        but why?

Making out 

might just be as great 

as they say it is.

Except – 

I do not find

greatness,

in this make-out session.

Too rough,

Too insistent,

Too controlling.

I want to tell him to stop,

but I can not find the words to.

– He is my Universe

  and I can not ruin something 

  so beautiful,

  as that.

  …Right?

The thing about Universes, though,

is that they are easily disturbed.

One shift in a planet’s gravitational course,

and the rest

is tumbling down with it.

And suddenly, 

the whole universe

is just a jumble of broken planets

and atmospheric dust particles.

– I do not know

  how, or if it is possible

  to resurrect my broken universe,

  after this.

How

did 

let 

myself

end 

up

here?

While I lay there, him grabbing 

handfuls of unwarranted skin, and 

lapping at the valley of my V, he 

says  he’s  made  a  poem  for me: 

She drips honey, and I am intoxicated 

in its sweetness. – Me, I am Pooh, and I 

have found this eternal spring of honey 

to drink from- soak up everything out 

of  the  pot,  and  then  toss  it 

aside, once empty.

– What I do not tell him,

  Is that I loathe

  his poem, and

  that I am not his 

  Eternal 

  Spring 

  to drink from.

  This eternal spring of his,

  is no long eternal.

  Instead, sparse,

  soaked up

  by his 

  Eternal

  Greed.

 I lay there 

staring  at  the  ceiling 

while he makes a mess out of 

my Universe, and suddenly, I am 

engulfed in stars, and galaxies, and 

moons,  and  planets,  and  my  mind  

is gone  from   whatever  is  happen-

ing  to  my  body,    because  I  can 

not    bear    to    face    the    fact 

that   I’ve   let   him   do  

this  to  me

“Cya,” He says, 

once his world

has also exploded into

galaxies

and stars 

and planets 

and moons.

(it’s so odd, 

how our galaxies

can explode

so differently.)

He leaves.

and I stay,

sticky messes in places 

I don’t want them to be.

– Why

  did 

  I 

  let 

  that 

  happen?

    And,

    why didn’t he listen,

    when I told him

    to be gentle?

      (Did he even notice 

      the tears falling down my pale, 

      deathly 

      cheeks?

      Or was he just to focused 

      on making his own stupid 

      galaxy

      explode?)

I did not say no.

I was not raped.

But if that’s the case,

then why does it feel like 

I was?

It’s been

an hour.

I lay there,

for an hour.

Unmoving,

trapped in this body of mine.

I want to

C

L

A

W

at my skin,

and hope that I could draw enough blood

to drip this feeling 

out of me

I am Trapped.

        Trapped.

        Trapped.

– And 

       this, 

  is where 

   Sob.

I go back to the same party,

a day later. 

I am Drunk, 

and Confused, 

and Numb.

When he shows up, though,

I explode.

Spontaneously combust into a million dust particles,

and float seamlessly out of the room.

Except, he sees me before I am able to make my exit.

I am Trapped.

“Shall we?” He says,

and waits for no reply.

Pushes me up the stairs,

and I stumble

into the bedroom,

onto the bed.

I revert back into my galaxy

the second his Hand

touches my Thigh.

– I can not bear the reality of his touch,

  and this universe,

  anymore.

I

wonder

why

I

let

this

happen

to

me,

again.

do

 not go

 to a party 

again.  …Until  I 

do,  seeking  sweet 

 emptiness,  and  he’s  there, 

again. – But he’s with another girl. 

I am happy, all the while be-

ing sad, and I want to tell 

her to please, please

 run. – He will ruin 

your Star, like

he did,

  Mine.

He does not approach me.

He ignores me.

– I am a forgotten planet

  In his broken little universe.

  – I could not be more grateful

    that he does not care,

    anymore.

Planet

&

Sun

Lets play a game, shall we?

I will be the planet,

and you will be the sun.

I will revolve around you

despite your insistent burns,

and eventually become

C L O S E    R

to you.

– The way to win this little game of ours?

  You swallow me whole.

  I burn,

  and you grow bigger.

  – I guess,

    that is how it works

    when you make a game

    out of taking Stars from girls

    who are planets,

    just waiting to find their Moon.

      (If only I could be the sun,

      swallow YOU whole

      and allow your memories

      to go with it.)

I am in astronomy class 

and a kid 

who never speaks, 

starts to talk about planets, 

and suns with me.

“Did you know that moons not only revolve around planets, 

but that planets also revolve around suns, which are stars,

and that these stars will revolve around bigger stars

(that then eventually violently merge)

that also revolve around vertex-sucking black holes?

It’s a cycle, you see. 

One revolves around the other, 

that revolves around the other, 

that then merges

and eventually revolves around the other and so on… 

One revolving sun or planet or moon or black hole changes the whole solar system. 

It’s fascinating, really.

And the aspect of things merging to create bigger things?

That’s also fascinating.”

– I do not tell him

that I am now a planet,

that once revolved around

a sun

that is now completely off it’s gravitational course.

(And thank god,

I did not merge

with that Sun.

I would be swallowed whole

by my insistent need to

not speak

while he suffocates me.)

I thought

I could trust you,

because you seemed like the type

to grow gardens in me.

– I should have known,

  it was the opposite.

I meet him 

at a party, too.  

He is kind,

and caring, 

and sweet, 

and I think –

I think he’s 

found his moon,

me,     

and I,

mine.

  (But somehow,

  I still doubt

  the chaotic concept

  of a guy,

  being “good.”)

Somewhere along the way,

we start a passionate conversation.

In the middle

of talking 

about planets 

and suns, 

his eyes 

find mine,

and we’re both lost.

-Perhaps I am his moon, after all, 

  and this heart-stopping 

  moment of intimate

  gaze-filled affection 

  is just a way 

  for him to see 

  that he

  is my moon, 

  as well. 

    (This boy always loved 

    loving what was worth being 

    loved, 

    didn’t he?)

This time,

when my moon

asks me

to follow him,

I refuse.

He seems to be perfect,

but the other seemed to be 

perfect 

as well.

How do I trust others,

while perched atop a broken star,

in a quickly-crumbling universe?

How do I trust others,

when I can not even trust

myself?

– This perfect moon-boy next to me,

  takes my hand,

  and in the midst of a useless

  party, he tells me that I am 

  perfect.

    Thus,

    I take

    his

    hand,

    place it upon my cheek,

    and kiss him.

(I guess I forgot about the whole

lets-not-be-stupid-and-vulnerable-thing)

    And somehow,

    all the planets

    and stars

    and suns

    and moons

    In my chaotic universe,

    become perfectly aligned

Maybe following him would

be a good idea…

The stairs

up to the bedroom,

couldn’t be longer.

But when we get there,

I tell him

that I live upon a broken star,

that once dripped red.

– And that this star of mine,

  does not drip rain,

  anymore.

He tells me,

that the only thing 

he wants right now,

is for me to forget

about that broken star.

He tells me,

that he wants me to forget

everything bad,

and that he will do the same.

  If only, just for this moment.

                           Before anything happens,

 dec-

ide that 

my star is 

too  broken

 to live upon,

anymore.

  So 

  I take

  the leap

  and head, 

  instead, to 

  my planet. 

  I do not 

k-

now 

where I 

am going,

but     I     am 

exploring the 

vast valley

of  a 

                     d e s e r t   l a n d ,

          a n d   i t   s t a r t s   t o   r a i n .   P u d –

   d l e s   p o o l   i n   t h e   s a n d ,   a n d   I   a m 

            f l o a t i n g ,   f l o a t i n g   t o   m y   M o o n .

      ( T h a n k  y o u ,  f o r  g r o w i n g  m y  

g a r d e n ,  e v e n  i f  i t  i s  a  

       d  e  s  e  r  t  .  )

My universe

is never the same,

after.

His hands of malleable gold

coat every burnt out star

inside me,

and every

broken galaxy 

inside me before,

is sucked into a black hole,

and reborn.

         I

     am

reborn.

In the midst of telling you,

that you’ve helped me in ways

I could never have imagined,

you tell me

that I, too,

have helped you.

I ask,

how?

– And you tell me

  your story.

    You say

    that you were born

    from the ashes of a 

    broken home,

    with 

    broken people,

    and 

    broken faces.

    You tell me

    that after you were burnt to a crisp

    by the people who you thought loved you,

    you grew wings

    of ashy dust,

    and became a phoenix.

    You tell me,

    that you have been reborn

    over

    and over

    and over,

    and that if I want to be

    your ash collector,

    I must understand

    all the ways in which 

    you can spontaneously combust

    into fiery ashes,

    and 

    how to find

    all your lost ash particles

    after.

I tell him

that I’ve been reborn, too.

He knows this,

but this time,

I tell him everything.

And I tell him of all the other rebirths, 

after that rebirth.

– The

  nights

  of endless

   replay

  and the constant

  feel

  of non-stop

  painful

  planetary explosions

  inside me,

  again and again and again.

  – By the end, he is picking up the remains

    of my 17th rebirth,

    and I am picking up the remains

    of his 20th.

    – We

      are 

      both 

      flying 

      with 

      new 

      wings.

Inevitably,

his new wings

break.

He’s shedding feathers

laced with past-abuse

in my face, telling me

that he is not 

Worth It.

I am spitting back

the nonexistent remains of my 

broken star

telling him that yes,

he is

worth it.

“You grew

my universe,”

I’m telling him.

“You set every off-course,

chaotic

gravitational 

force

back to rightness.

You filled every empty

black hole in my being

with moons,

and told me that I am 

beautiful.

You

are

just

as

beautiful,

you

are

just

as

worth

It.

He is quiet,

after that,

and I take the opportunity

to continue.

“I want to claw

at the minds of every person

who ever hurt you. 

You know why?

Because maybe then,

and only then,

would they open themselves

to a new perspective

filled with all the hate and hurt 

they’ve dealt to you.

I could only wish,

that they would be willing

to understand the hurt

they’ve caused, and the 

pain

they’ve dealt

to a boy 

who did nothing but love,

unconditionally.”

After, he is showing me

all the ways he makes my desert

less like a desert 

and more like a fertile garden, again.

am 

flying 

over 

my 

moon 

and 

reaching 

all 

my 

stars.

I want him to take

all that I have,

everything that is no longer

broken.

– He deserves

  nothing less

  then 

  everything

  I have.

I am              lost

  In his eter-     nal warmth, 

 watching   as   my   heart- 

shaped   planets   float 

around   his   head,

and his, around 

mine.

At one point,

while swimming in the ocean

of my just-rained-upon

earth,

he tells me

that what happened

at those parties,

with that boy,

does not define me.

He also tells me, 

that what happened

was 

not

my

fault.

And this time,

It is my eyes

that drip blood.

– I am shedding

  tears of the past,

  bleeding out the hurt,

  and reclaiming this body of mine.

    (How could I not have realized,

     that what he did to me-

     was rape?)

He tells me something,

as we both lay awake at night,

unable to sleep.

(These demons in our head,

 keep us both awake.)

“I thought I would never be loved,

until you floated seamlessly into my life,

took hold of every single ounce of hate 

I had for them,

and for me,

and threw it all away.

I could never thank you enough

for resurrecting my broken wings,

and collecting all the ripped-off feathers

of my past self.

You have helped me create something completely new with them,

and I could never be more thankful

to have a universe-goddess like you

with me.”

I want to tell him,

that I am thankful

for all he has mended,

as well.

All my broken planets,

restored,

All my off-course planets,

brought back onto its natural,

perfect gravitational course.

Every 

single 

one 

of my burnt-out stars,

painted over with glittery

gold, and

resurrected

But I do not.

We both

already know 

that I am his Universe,

and he

is mine.

Thank you

for resurrecting

everything broken

inside me.

Thank you

for loving each

and every part

of my once broken universe,

Thank you

for helping me

understand,

everything.

    Thank you

    for being

    my Moon.

Leave a Comment

If you want a picture to show with your comment, go get a gravatar.




The Nationalist • Copyright 2020 • FLEX WordPress Theme by SNOLog in