By Chelsea Brown
The sun hides behind the moon and forces us to play amongst a sea of stars.
Millions of constellations dangle far above the atmosphere,
a mobile for Earth’s cradle.
We are still so small,
confined to repetitive day jobs while the stars stay shining, burning, blazing
Right over our little heads, full of fears, worries, and woes.
These stars don’t answer to any shift manager, judgemental friends, nor parents;
They exist for themselves.
When I grow up, I don’t want to be a doctor or lawyer or teacher-
I want to be a star.
Not to be confused with a celebrity or influencer, no-
I want to be comprised of hydrogen, helium, and carbon,
A giant, all encompassing mass of heat and flames.
I want to be as unwavering as the Ursa Major,
a giant bear ruling the heavens,
Or gleam as blindingly as Sirius,
the glowing dog stretching over the sky.
And when I die, I want to go out like a supernova,
in a cataclysmic explosion that stretches lightyears long,
and whose absence will only be noticed hundreds upon billions of years later.