I’ve always thought I was a bit like the sun,
burning, exploding, colliding inside.
My nuclear fission radiating light,
but people mistake it for a twinkle in my eye.
And the sun is such a lonely star,
whenever he comes out, all the others disappear,
and the moon he loves is on the other side of the world.
shes just a twinkle in his sky.
When they finally do meet,
it’s eclipsed by some solar event,
and she has to leave far too soon,
because the earth can’t stop spinning for the sun and the moon.
And people seem to think the sun controls the weather.
whether its hot or cold, rain or snow,
but its never enough or always too much,
because I can never get it right.
So yes, I have skeletons in my closet,
but when I put them there, they were more than shadows.
I guess their rocket ship broke,
because now they’re just charred bones.
But when you’re the sun, its not your fault,
that people who get too close go up in flames,
because its hard not to burn every bridge,
when burning is how you live.
Children draw pictures of the sun,
with round yellow shine and crooked rays,
sometimes even a smiley face,
and the sun is always glowing in the corner.
But then that kid grows up and goes to school.
he thinks space is cool so he gets a telescope,
then a certificate of astronomy, now he really knows me,
and the childhood smiley face is erased
