There's a star in the sky
that I can only seem to find
when you're around
to point it out to me.
So every night
I lie in bed
knowing that my mental map
of the black velvet sky
is insufficient,
incomplete—
it's not enough—
because you haven't
been around
for a while.
But every night
is a wasted sleep
if you're not on my mind.
I have loved many
and known few
and it's never been
the same way
that I knew
and loved you
I've given up on
looking for that star—
the star that you
seem to have invented
to show that you own me,
that I am not my own—
because if I had to guess,
it was either that you
fooled me into
seeing what was never
really there
or else it is that I will never
be whole again,
like the celestial maps
that contain gaps compared
to the ones you have
carved into my soul.
And if the latter is true,
then it seems that
no matter who I am,
where I go,
or what I become,
you will always
hold a part of me
chained,
locked,
and under your command.
