venom and stardust
I was born where comets broke their promises,
where the night sky wore bruises
the color of forgotten kings.
The midwife held me up to the moon
and the moon hissed.
Not from hatred,
but recognition.
Something ancient had arrived
with stardust in its lungs
and venom in its veins.
I learned early
that beauty has fangs.
Roses defend themselves.
Galaxies swallow whole worlds.
Even angels carry swords
when the story demands it.
So I wandered,
a glittering contradiction,
collecting constellations in my pockets
and grudges in my shadow.
Lovers kissed my forehead
and tasted lightning.
Enemies drew blood
and found their own reflections
staring back from the wound.
Years passed.
Nebulas bloomed and collapsed.
Entire versions of myself
burned to ash
like letters tossed into sacred fire.
Yet here I remain.
Not untouched.
Not innocent.
But luminous.
A creature forged
from equal parts poison and wonder.
The stars taught me how to shine.
The venom taught me how to survive.
And on this birthday,
beneath a sky still writing my name,
I raise a glass
to every darkness I outlived,
to every dream that refused extinction,
and to the wild truth
that some souls are not born gently.
Some arrive
wearing stardust as a crown
and venom as a pair of wings. ???
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