Beneath my skin there is an entire
unexplored 
cosmos
that replenishes itself with
like the cells that make up my body,
it is filled with innumerable,
splendid celestial bodies
that sing with their own light
and will never consume themselves.
They will spin and burn and sing and grow
through even the darkest of the darkest time,
from my emotions riding on the swells of waves, from
the slow ascents to the peaks of mountains to
the plunging spirals I take so often
They will never dim in their brilliance.
You see,
I have been left behind
time after time
by person after person
but I cannot let myself grow bitter.
Every rip and tear in the canvas of my heart
is just another belt of stars,
torn into existence with the pain of a super nova—
My father’s exit brought about
a new Milky Way,
my mother’s absence gave me new constellations
name: Panthera, Rupicapra, Ceratotheruim, and on.
But as my star-map grows with pain
it also flourishes with happiness—always expanding,
day in and day out. 
But would you believe me if I told you
of the stars in my eyes?
Of who I was,
who I am?