Bent Halos and Broken Wings

I pull my scarred hands from the dirt and oh // how they sigh. they don’t see my muscle, all that meat. oh // they sigh, oh what talent. I wish I could be like you. // and my, my red blood cells quiver with rage. // do you see this? they see that I have scars and they cry, oh, talented soul! // it makes my veins shrink, my ears shrivel. // don’t you see? don’t you understand? talent is a lie. // there is no such thing. // I made these scars. I carved them one by one, slowly, dragging them through the dirt. // when I was little I was no different from another. // but now that I have this, these delicious scars and lean muscles // you are all too happy to say I did not make them. to say that I was born with ability and knowledge. // I was not born with scars, I did not emerge from the dirt already a creator. // no one put the blade in my hand, no one pulled me through the rain and the muck // but myself

Swallow the stars; Let them seep into your very being.

Love the angel with supernova bruises running down their ribcage. Hold them carefully and do not let go.