The stars charmed your heart like a child
but it is like a child with ears shut
from the truth that not all of them are.
For you they are only flowers burning in the sky,
the names that burn with them
irrelevant to the way they lit softly
the emptiness you shelter away from
in the comfort of your laptop
under the flourescent-lit ceiling.
And you chose to ignore the relentless gaze
of Venus with its rain like acid
to the young, untested heart
crippling its unhardened muscles
and tugging it towards
your youthful ignorance
of what is love
and what is proper for love.
Your heart remains to be tested today
as the scolding hammers the
muscles and molds it
against the heat
against the damage of the acid
that seared the eyes of your heart
away from backward whispers
and into the intoxicating laughter
and kisses that sheltered it
against the burning dreams
of your imaginary (yet unmapped) constellations.
You are still but a child
and your heart still has to open
to the truth that the skies and the stars
can’t be molded to the whims of your youth.
They have to be learned and faced as they are
like the world, like life.
By the time I wrote this, my sister was scolded because of reckless teenage love. I don’t want to think about the details (don’t worry, it’s not pregnancy).
Poem No. 4 for this week’s theme, “writing summer”.