i saw someone mock the way that poets like to talk about the stars, the moon and how we’re all made of stardust as a way to belittle them. so here’s my response to that: yes, i would like to believe that we are made of so much more than blood and bones. that somehow, there’s a sprinkle of something unexplainable in my skin and under these layers of muscle. i want and perhaps choose to hang on to a small piece of naivety in order to hold off against a dark world entombed in darkness and satire.
i would just like to believe in the impossible, and find something else to wonder about. sure, i’ll never really know if i’m made of stardust or if magic exists, but i would like to believe it does. we all need a little magic and silly belief in our lives to keep the reality at bay – why do you think that people get addicted to things? alcoholism and drug abuse wouldn’t be a thing if we are all happy with every aspect of our lives.
anyway, can’t we all just let people be happy with their small beliefs, especially one that doesn’t hurt anybody? there’s nothing wrong with wanting to believe in a little magic to make ourselves feel special. i’d like to think that poets and writers who compare our simple human bodies to the moon and the stars just want the people who read their work to fall in love with themselves; to look at the beauty of the moon and the stars and think, “i am a part of something much bigger, and i am a part of the universe.”
at least for me, i want people who read my work – as i talk about their bodies made of stardust and the constellations that dance upon their skin – to see the beauty of themselves as they see the beauty that is in the moon and stars. i want them to feel like they belong in the universe and the grand scheme of life; that whatever they are put onto this earth for, they have a purpose.