She speaks up for the thousandth time,

when it's easier to keep quiet.

A star who says what's is in her soul

when you respond with your mouth.

A shard of silver pain in her heart.

But they have no idea.

 

You say the first thing in your head,

collapse her nebulous boundaries.

She’s a people pleaser, easily moved

by those who would like her to fall.

A nebula that can't make stars.

But they have no idea.

 

She sometimes wants to create out loud,

to be an explosion for dim people.

She keeps dull so that she shines less,

she has no idea how to be real.

They interrupt her time as if it's free.

But they have no idea.

 

Voiceless in the world, so she keeps

herself inside her spaceship of self.

She won’t tell you how she’s feeling,

because she’ll be telling spirits.

She knows and loves her dark shadow side.

But they have no idea.