Many people write about human suffering, about abuse and rape and loneliness and abandonment. They write about the scars that pain leaves and how those scars eventually fade. They write about finding someone who loves them and coming to love themselves. They write about trust and faith. They write about limitless hope.
But hope can die. Maybe we're not strong enough or good enough or whatever, but some of us can't go on. The faded scars have spotlights on them. Having someone care makes you feel like an even bigger piece of shit. And things like trust and faith and hope are betrayed. By others. By ourselves.
Humans are basically just fucked up.
Did you catch that? Humans. Plural.
Because you're never alone in suffering. We all lead different lives haunted by different demons, but pain is pain. Our hearts have all shattered and our throats have all been rubbed sore from our sobs. It doesn't matter why. It just matters that it happened and that others can empathize with your agony, even if they don't completely understand.
I've ran my poems by some of my followers and they all meant different things to them. My grandpa is dying from Agent Orange, and one thinks it's about oppression, another about veterans in general, and another about our own inner battles. I recount my friends' experience with sexual assault, and they believe it was my own experience or a struggle with promiscuity.
Poetry's meaning varies.
It varies because we can find familiar thoughts and feelings regardless of the situation. I genuinely cried for one beautiful boy who told me about how he witnessed his uncle's suicide even though the poem he was referring to had nothing to do with that. Misery is not confined to a specific box. It spills and stains everything.
What you've gone through may be temporary, it may not be. I have no clue who you are and what you've done or had done to you. I'm just speaking through a screen to unknown readers. Some of you will be silent. Some of you will reach out.
But, hopefully, all of you will understand this:
stars die.
They burst in a brilliant explosion and break into countless pieces. They'll never be the same. But some parts of that star will become an asteroid or a layer of dust on a planet or the warmth that nurtures new life. It will still have a purpose.
And while it is growing and waiting for that purpose, that broken little star will be kept company by billions of other dying stars too. Though the darkness will surround them, those stars will always have each other. Galaxies will be filled with communities of broken and shattered things, comforting one another until their time comes. No matter what it may be for.
🤓 JustANerd777 🤓
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Even Stars Die
Poesía"Nothing is infinite. For even the stars, brilliant and bright and true, light up the dark for but a brief moment before disappearing into the endless night." 【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】 These pages were meant to bring my greatest fears to life because desp...
