astophysical grief

Every time I said I wanted to die
I meant I am willing to do anything to live.
Build a new home atop a dust cloud and
stick a straw into a buried tarn on Pluto
and get merry on weightlessness,
creating new asterisms,
walking the tightrope between
uncharted celestial bodies.
existing bodiless, a shadow in reverse.
a smudge of luminescence made by
the iniquity I escaped.
But no one really wants to die,
they want relief,
and they believe they will never find it in this world.
that belief could be right or wrong.
you need to remain to find out.
and I will share my straw,
and show you the tarns that are embedded on this planet.
and that you don't need to go through a striking distance to reach them.
Sometimes grief is the fastest way to truth.
but moreover, I also have a catapult,
slinging comets toward the sun
until change spills from its golden purse,
giving me shimmering summer afternoons.
you can do anything with it,
shower, sunbathe, scream;
or forgive ourselves,
everything.
especially the string we could not persuade
to close our wounds.
if your wounds are still open,
confide that there are windows to climb through to an answer.
what if we don't have to be healed to be whole?
'cause there are holes in every fabric that make us who we are.
I read that people scream when they are in pain,
because screaming minimizes the pain.
and anyone who asks you to hold your tongue,
is asking you to hold the most ponderous thing in the galaxy.
forget them.
and speak up about how you are
flirting with your expiration day.
most understand,
by being wooed by the finish line of sorrow.
where infinity still sends you nudes every day,
and not denying she that looks amazing.
but I am taken.
My hand now pledges to write
every word of my story,
except for its end.
a difficult life is not less living
than a gentle one.
joy is just easier to carry than dejection.
GRIEF ASTRONOMER
adjust your lens
look close
and tell me what you see...