Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

Counting constellations, waiting for my stars to align.

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

Cosmic creations of tiny stars and fine lines.

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

Last Wednesday, as the sunlight seeped through, my clock started to shine.

 

But…

I don't have a physical clock and I'm not a Capricorn and if I'm being honest, I don't know anything about astronomy,

But…

I think it's cool.

 

​​No, I think people think it's cool, so I pretend to know all about it.

Because Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia, what am I if not a people pleaser?

 

Because I've never known anything for myself other than what others want from me,

Because when does lying to satisfy others ever satisfy my needs,

Because what's the fine line between kind and self deprecating,

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

I'm —trying.

 

Trying to navigate the empty space between my desires and their expectations,

My identity and their deceptions,

My voice and their conversations—

 

Maybe I'm —flying.

 

Maybe I'm —not, it feels like I'm buried alive.

"Speak up," they said. Maybe I replied.

 

Maybe I was underwater, that's what I told myself.

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

Nothing rhymes with myself.

 

Mistakes is a near rhyme, or maybe it's called a synonym.

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

I've made a lot of them.

 

"Hurt people hurt people" is the saying,

And I guess I agree.

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

I'm slowly losing touch of me.

 

Maybe I should have said something,

Maybe I missed a cue,

Well maybe shy, maybe immature, or maybe just 16.

 

Maybe just a sixteen year old boy that counted test scores instead of blessings,

That tallied missed oppurtunities instead of cherished memories

That pointed scars instead of stars.

 

So now I'm lost in the cosmos of my own creation,

With black hole eyes and a constellation full heart

Caelum, Capricorn, Cassiopeia,

Maybe this is where I start.