When you were just a girl, you had stardust in your hair and now you twirl to the same tune like the galaxy belongs to you.
When you were just a girl,
You had stardust in your hair.
It lay across your childlike shoulder blades,
And your mom was always there to comb the tangles out.
You danced, oh how you danced, like the only soul in space,
Like the sun rose and set for you alone.
When the days stretched on for miles—
Vibrant mornings that faded into lazy afternoons,
Sidewalk chalk and melted, sticky popsicles,
Skinned knees and dirty feet.
Birthday cakes—some vanilla, some ice cream
And candles have vanished with a wish.
First kisses, felt like joy and regret,
With sky blue rubber bands snapped on your metal brackets.
You still have those dolls you used to love,
Hidden in the back of your closet,
And in the dead of the night,
You yank the knots out of their synthetic hair.
You still twirl to the tunes like the galaxy belongs to you—
But only when you’re alone behind a heavy bedroom door.
There’s still stardust in your golden locks,
But you wonder if anyone can see it now.
So you cry and you cry and you cry,
Your body like a storm.
You wish you could remember how it felt to be eight, to be ten, to be fourteen,
Yet, your mother still combs your hair until it’s smooth.
You might no longer be the sun or a storm,
But you are better—
You make your own weather now.
You are the work of dreams, and you are nothing more or less than stars.