Hidden From the Stars Touching My Scars
HIDDEN FROM THE STARS TOUCHING MY SCARS
I have forgotten what the stars look like. The moon whispers in the dark, unseen also, reminding me about my every scar. On my back, once I had wings, on my fingers, once I held weapons, on my heart, once yours rested there, too. Tigers don’t fly, but me and Freddie Mercury knew better. Perhaps it is cruelty that I’m still here, perhaps it is mercy. I had the decency to go mad quietly. I want that known. Not one person heard my screams. My tears mean something even though no one but me saw them. I borrowed my wings, but still I know how to fly. You took my hand and showed me how. You didn’t take my wings, but it’s the same in the end. I watched my world crumble, did you laugh? Were there tears in your eyes, unseen? I can live without wings, but I want the stars back. It doesn’t feel unreasonable. I am a reasonable lunatic, rational through and through. I can’t blame you for the loss of my dance and my song, but it is tempting. After all, you pin the blame for everything on me. Still, the stars are waiting for your gaze at any time, and I am the one abandoned in the dark. I know what doesn’t kill me makes me stranger. How strange I’ve become. And you, you dare claim to be the victim. What more to say? There is a chain between our hearts. Even now I am trying to set you free. Take my borrowed wings and go. Tigers don’t fly. Freddie’s dead. But not me. Forgotten, but not gone. You never should have taught me to fly. That was cruel. I never thought I’d feel the winds lift me. I would have been fine. You made me love you, and that was cruel, too. The cruelest cut, you left me broken and alone. The scars on my back ache. The moon whispers, telling me I’m fragile. The stars miss me, but you hide me. They don’t remember my face, either, or my voice. The moon does nothing. I went mad quietly. I want that known. I watched my world crumble.
