Now Breathe

There are no constellations mapped across my skin and I am not a galaxy waiting for you to explore. There are no nebulae sprouting from my lungs and there is no stardust scattered in my veins. I am more than that, I am more than molecules that have re-arranged themselves into the vastness of the universe. I do not need you to tell me that I wear a circlet of comets because I am beautiful and because my gravity attracts celestial objects.

I need you to tell me to breathe, to remember that each breath is a small start to hope. My own lungs implore me, keep breathing, keep going. You are worthy, you are worthy. I would not house life if you were not worthy. There will be no shifting of the planet's rotation as I fly by, there will be no change in air pressure when I settle. I am small. I am small, but I am so much more than the space I take up. You need to realize and recognize the signs of my sadness, the curve of my happiness, and the ferocity of my passion.

Stardust isn't dappled into my skin, weaving through each layer, making me shine. I shine because I stumble over words when I speak to strangers and am too afraid to speak, but do it anyways. I shine because I press forward, even when life seems to be nothing but an unrehearsed orbit. I need you to tell me that instead of being a solar flare: wild, fiery, unpredictable, I am human: flawed, timid, predictable. These are the things I pride myself on. There never have been novas in my eyes or supernovas curling beneath my smile, but when I love, I could swallow black holes and still run out of room.

The best piece of advice I can give you is that the things you look hardest for start to disappear quickest. I am not a cosmic wonder for you covet.