The kind of stars pattern
Why?
Why do you shine like that?
How are you up there—
so perfect, so bright?
While I scream,
while I scream,
and all I do is fade—
I can barely breathe, I can barely stand the weight of this.
Each star has its own pattern,
its own radiant glow,
because every light is different,
every star has its own story to show.
Some stars are born to live in the sky,
their light is natural, steady, and high.
They burn bright because that’s their place,
the rhythm of the universe, they fall with grace.
They shine, and everyone believes it’s easy,
as if it’s a given—
they think they’re meant to last forever.
But we—
we’re the ones who are not meant to be seen.
The suicide star.
I’m not the kind of star that fits in that sky.
I’m not the one that makes you gasp in awe.
I’m the one that’s too far away,
the one that flickers,
and fades before you even notice I’m here.
I scream into the void,
Why can’t I burn like you?
Why can’t I glow and be seen?
But there’s nothing.
Only silence.
You don’t understand.
You don’t know what it’s like
to be the star that’s supposed to burn bright,
but instead—
you fight the dark until you’re consumed,
until you’ve lost all light.
I can’t keep going.
I try, but it hurts too much to keep pretending
that I’m a star that matters.
I’m the kind of star that no one will remember.
48,537 lives,
slipped away this year—
and one of them could be me.
But you wouldn’t know,
because my light isn’t the one you look for.
You’re the natural star.
The one that’s been placed in the sky,
the one people can always count on to shine.
They look up,
and they see you—
fall in love with your perfect light,
and they think,
“That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
But I’m not you.
I’m the one that fades,
the one that was never meant to be noticed.
I’m the kind of star that burns out quietly—
no audience, no applause.
People think they can shine,
they think they can succeed.
They think they can do this—
they can fight their way through the dark
and come out on top.
But they don’t know what it feels like
to be the kind of star that wasn’t made to last.
To be the kind of star that disappears
before anyone even sees you.
They don’t know how it feels
to scream into the sky,
and only hear the echo of their own pain.
I try,
but my light flickers—
it’s not the kind that lasts.
I’m just the suicide star.
The one that burns out quietly.
The one who’s never meant to be remembered,
the one who’s already forgotten
before they even finish fading.
But you—
You’re the kind of star that people fall in love with.
You’re the one they count on.
They think it’s easy to shine like you—
but they don’t see the other side of it.
They don’t know what it’s like to be this kind of star,
the one that fights to stay visible,
the one that can never truly reach the sky.
In one day,
I’ll attempt to burn,
to show the world that I was once here,
but it won’t matter.
No one will see my flicker—
I’ll just be gone.
And they’ll forget.
That’s the kind of star I am.
The one that was never meant to shine.
I never had the chance to be the natural one,
the one people would admire.
I’m the kind of star that fades
before anyone even sees me burn.
And when I disappear—
no one will miss me.
They’ll just keep looking up to you,
the star they were meant to love.
But we’re not the same.
I’m the forgotten one.
The suicide star.
Copyright ©
Yanna Phawta
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