Origins Story

I was born an odd child to a starlet mother and a black hole father.
My mother nursed me with ancestral lullabies while fending off

her descent into my father’s void. My father over fed me
with cheap trinkets of hopes and jingling expectations

that made me sickly. People told me that as a child
I perpetually seemed like I was going to explode

into fleshy tears and glittering chunks. They swore
they witnessed a strange battle inside of me

when they saw my eyes. They weren’t sure if I’d live
to see another day. They say my hue shifted

from jasmine white to lotus pink to hibiscus red.
Red, a color that my mother mistook as a sign of luck,

a sign, a sign, a sign. My mother told me my luck
would change for me. My mother meteorically turned

to haze. My father collapsed on himself.
I didn’t see signs.

I saw signals to return to the beginning,
to the ancestral songs and stories,

to the dense stardust universe in my head. There,
I wander, flounder, and chant:

Let me find my way
to honor all parts of who I am.

Let me find my way to honor
all parts of who I am.