The ceiling always looked boring.
Its white color was empty and hollow.
Nobody took the time to notice its bleakness.
Until me.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.

Tippy toed on the chair’s wicker frame I
covered the blank canvas with green-gold shimmers.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.

I’d been so anxious to go to bed that night.
The tooth brush barely hit my teeth.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.

I lay in my bed and gazed up at the stars.
My imagination would trigger and I swore
I saw one shoot across the white wall.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.

Now as I gaze up at the randomly placed stars, and wonder why
I liked them so much, eight years had gone by.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.

Everyday since they’d been placed there,
the stars were the first and last thing I saw everyday.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.


Maybe I thought plastic shimmers where the answer to vast emptiness.

To feel whole again.

But looking up at the sky now just makes me feel small.

Glow in the Dark Stars are nothing but plastic in a package.



On the occasional night,
I still imagine the sparkling star zip towards my window
where the real stars rest, motionless in the dark.