you're so pretty, my stargirl, sitting on your porch at midnight with pure starlight rolling between your dry palms. your chipped blue fingernails poke into the light like play dough, and you laugh, a babyish giggle usually heard behind teen magazines and in the ears of those that think ten is late. you act like you're just playing, stargirl, but you are fundamental in the creation of the universe. one temper tantrum and bruises up your freckled arms from when twisted in your own grip, and one big bang later, you had created the universe. now, you curl up and shape stars with gnawed on lips and scratched thighs.
