Anonymous inquired Stardust, star child- galaxies in your eyes and unhaltered love in your chest, be it for anyone or no one at all. Chunks of hair fall out in your brush and your fingers shake when you type poems you're afraid people like but don't ever feel. I feel but not for the same reasons they flowed with haste from your hands to the keys. I feel from my veins and my joints and the weird wrinkle on my forehead vain women always warned me about. I don't know what I'm doing but, I needed something. Thank you.
I wish I could say you’re welcome but I don’t know who this is- but thank you.
Anonymous inquired Have I crossed a line? Can it be too much to say the sunken way your eyes look makes me sad like last december? I can remember every night spent alone in my car with more smoke than oxygen and one night I laid in the snow until I thought I had died. But I got up and shook it off. Not because I wasn't sad but because life kept going and the Earth never stood still for me. I think gold is a pretty color on your pretty eyes and if I were to hug you, I hope your bones would feel that. You are gold.
Anonymous inquired I don't feel so empty now. I still press the snooze 5 or 6 times each morning but. I don't feel so empty now. I remember when I wrote stories and was embarrassed of my mind. I remember when I hid behind my friends for fear of laughter. But I am better. There were boys and girls who touched me w/ tenderness and w/ unnecessary roughness. It gave me calluses on my heart. But I am better. And I will be a person w/ soft fingers and words and will play w/ hair and speak w/ soul. I don't feel so empty.