supernova

Are you ready for the future? 

Well, I don’t know...why don’t you ask the 3 year old child shoving a crayon up their nose. They can answer as well as I can.

I am not a being. I am an idea. Something you dream and hope and wish for, but suddenly despise when I arrive. 

I am a yellow star. Not the ones you make wishes on, or the ones you stare up at under the deep blue blanket. 

I am surely not the shiny, you-really-must-be-someone-if-you-got-one-of-these stars, no no not those ones down in Hollywood no way! 

Perhaps I am the embodiment of hope. That fleeting kind, right before the other shoe drops. 

I am the pulverized, juiceless skins of citrus past who lie rotting in the trash, or some tech magnate’s half-assed compost bin. 

Or maybe...just maybe...I am as real and worthy as you are. 

I am not just the number on a page, or a test score, or a phone number you dread seeing pop up. 

Maybe I was just a child. Skeleton thin, alcohol swab sterile, just about to 2-D disappear into thin air! 

Maybe I was just a baby, no malicious intent in the way I was small. 

Maybe I am simple. I am the single-celled organism that crawled out of the ocean and grew limbs, and fingers to crack, and legs to crawl. Or am I jelly? Liquid like soup? Aha! I lost your attention. Now I can really speak. 

Do I deserve to be spoken over? I do not want to grow up, but please don’t talk down to me. 

Think of me like this, please? I am the gum on your shoe, but remember. I was once unwrapped and chewed by someone.