Wish Upon A Star

I wished upon a falling star,
and it landed in my lap and when I tried to pick it up the edges cut me,
so I knew that what I wished for must have been you,
and the pain reminds me that I can feel,
and if you would have just wished me back maybe we could have bandaged each other,
and healed together…
But that never happened
and the stars grew sharper
and dropped more frequently.
I watched the sky, 
and counted the leaves on clover
all the while knowing the good luck couldn’t find me
not when I’m still hiding most of myself…
When I peer around corners I can sometimes see the light building in the distance and I think,
it may be warm,
it may be bright,
but can it shield me from the monsters?
The ones that count the missing stars and
pass sentence on anyone trying to cache them,
hoard them,
trying to cloak them,
trying to believe that their last chance is in those sharp edges,
and that their bloodied hands will heal,
and it all will have been worth the time spent stalking the sky.

I wished upon a falling,
fallen angel,
fallen woman,
it’s always the ones who fall that get the notice,
and the blame,
but picking myself up became harder and harder,
and my arms would shake just knowing they would have to try again…
And I am still hiding most of the time,
but once,
or twice,
I have dipped a toe into the light,
a small part of me expecting to burst into flame,
but it was swiftly done,
and left no welt,
and I may try again,
somewhere where the sky cannot spy,
where the stars only flicker and cannot harm,
and where my hands will be allowed to heal.



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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4 Responses to Wish Upon A Star

  1. Vashti Q says:

    Hauntingly beautiful and heartfelt.❤️

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