dissect my dreams to find wounded stars

nostalgia is yearning in reverse and my heart
throbs for the past, longing for
some form of satiety in my unconfessed dreams. for
 
i was a child when i was chained to my sheets,
anchored in grief,
mourning for a lost world that shattered when
you took a knife and dismantled my body.
shadows formed around my tendons, cuts curated my anguish. for
 
i was a child when my eyes followed yours, initially hopeful until you smothered my voice with tender promises of a tantalizing tomorrow.
you beckoned me towards you, leading me towards an apparent glint in life, leading me into your arms, only for the width of my hips and the size of my eyes to become a
reminder of the recessive failure that runs only in my veins,
failure red as the ink
splattered on the crumpled paper tucked beneath my pillow
like hair tucked behind my ear,
failure as red as the tint of shame,
born from the thought of being brilliant but fading out into indifference. for
 
i remember when i was once buried in beautiful, blazing potential
and momentarily i felt strong.
but you told me a girl must be given a voice before she can learn to speak, and to learn is to
surrender myself, and so once more i am no stronger than your words, no stronger than the color that has become an epithet for my name, no stronger than my desire to be more
than what is made of me. for
 
i can only call out into a void that i have grown to be a part of and watch
my heart ache as you put out her fire, and as my thoughts
slip through my fingers and into the drain,

i can only dance in a feast of self pity.