Why do you fear the stars?

My window was often my refugee,

from danger and hurt,

society and life. 

I'd stare at the clouds,

busily moving around me, 

all equally peculiar,

yet all so beautiful.

Until it came to a night,

my refugee turned into a place of imperilment,

I couldn't bear to sit at the sill any longer,

it wasn't that I hated the night skies,

the void of cerulean was rather comforting;

It is what laid upon the ether that scared me.

"Why do you fear the stars?"

I didn't fear the silver, the small speckles;

I feared what they represented.

The stars made the sky imperfect.

And perfection was the reason I was still alive.

How could anyone admire the flaws?

How could people romanticize the idea of glorifying "flaws"?

When I was imperfect, people hated me.

-veeksha