When they tell you you are made of stars,
do not let them forget what stars are made of. 
Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling,
not there for decoration.
Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are 
hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces
that consume their surroundings into death. 
They are not friendly; they do not exist
to write poems about. Stars 
are not made of metaphors. You
are not made of other people’s words.

When they tell you you are made of stars.
look them in the eye and remind them
that so are they, and so is the earth,
and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes,
and so is the fist you will hit them with
the next time they try to placate you
with their condescending bullshit –

When they tell you you are different from other girls,
ask them why you should want to be. 
Do not let them call you dream girl.
Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal,
surrounded by books that cannot hurt them.
Read things that can hurt them. 
Your mind is a forest richer than folklore; 
do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory.
Your intelligence is not a fashion statement. 
Your existence is not a novelty. 
You are not a metaphor 
for someone else’s problems.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you have always known this. 
Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow,
that you are burning with the deaths
of the entire universe before you.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you know. 
Tell them they should keep their distance.

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