I would rather call this piece a compilation of words than a poem, because I am not a poet. Therefore, this is not officially a poem. But who cares? Words are just words without a soul to give them their meaning.

 

Why Stars Die by misspee

Not surprised a bit that it will all go

down to this. You repeat the words and once

again, I listen to how it is my fault.

How it has always been my fault.

My ears are not meant to take

in daggers, nor has my heart been built of stone.

Do you think I do not bleed? How sure are you

when from the beginning, we have been

a million miles apart? Two colliding bodies of stars

keen on showering each other with sparks

of red and gold. Not wanting to be the last

to burn down and fall to the ground — a mere compilation

of pieces and torn paper. No. We are stars that collide

to create supernovas, forever

in danger of disappearing into a black hole.