Theadora Curtis 

 

the sun is a star

like they say i am 

when i wear that necklace and that velvet

when i want them to feel it

what i feel 

but not all that 

 

the sun is a star 

and light is my favorite color 

it paints the kitchen and i take my pill late 

maybe i wont take it at all 

happiness isn’t a lost bracelet 

in a crack that goes to the earth’s core 

maybe i won’t take it at all 

i’ll take it 

 

the sun is a star 

a brain built for narrative 

reasons and stories, meanings and reasons 

a brain built for stories 

light is my favorite color 

a character opens their eyes 

and it pours out 

someone is watching 

open and hopeful 

 

the sun is a star 

like i feel that i am  

when i pen a song 

instead of type a letter 

‘untitled’ 

a folder of ‘untitled’ 

‘untitled’ is bloody, it hurts in my gut 

a world of gray 

but bathed in my favorite color 

i pen a song 

it will see the light

like i have 

 

the sun is a star 

and ‘you’re not your mom’ 

if she’s in the hospital 

again and again

if she rearranges the furniture 

again and again

if she calls and leaves messages

again and again 

if her guitar smashes through the window

jagged pane

‘you’re not your mom’ 

bright dots couldn’t save her 

bright dots on eyelids

but they’ll save you 

 

the sun is a star 

and if i listen to that song 

and sit in that spot 

by the window 

a tan hides the scars 

and i’m that person 

who smiles easily 

who’s wearing my bracelet 

even in the shower 

maybe i won’t take it 

 

i’ll take it

the sun is a star.