Stellar destinies

Reaching the highest star available isn't a skill we are born with, and the aftermath of a simple dreaded summer, part two. I remember so fondly a June of last year, when reaping what I'd sown made perfect sense, imperfectly. I'd fallen, earned what was willing to be owned. Or due.

Deeply entrenched in sacrificing my values, shaking upon the ground every last bit of glitter strewn disorder, all on my own. And pondering that fact, as if I could "be" that sacred sinner, the one uplifted by Christians everywhere despite what the illusion of "shunning" has shown.

Taken all I was worth and suggested an alternate path could be honed. With a partner in the skies determined to share in the wealth of my archetypes, full grown. Writing every sensory-filled point of view, as if the tremors of a person-I-was-not had an antithesis that could be equally owned.

And now that magic has fallen by the wayside (each rhyme producing more groans). All those targets I shot towards, the ones who couldn't live without, the logic that would eventually be found. Only left with an "ow", all alone and writing it out.