Existence grafts

All the Stars We Cannot See

Some of us are born in cities made of steel and fog

Never laid our wondering, sleep-deprived eyes

Upon the glittering skin of a star

But you’ve probably seen the sun

It’s just….less magical up close

That’s kind of how

All things go

So beautiful when far away

Some of us our born on hillsides without map names

The sky absolutely freckled with glamor and shine

It’s almost like a night-time city up there

Which is also beautiful

But man-made landscapes

Always feel so damn

Artificial

We call things separate from ourselves “natural”

As if we are not meant to be a part of this world

Is it arrogance or ocean-deep shame that

Causes us to be

“Unnatural?”