When I was little my dad lit up my sky and I was sure he placed the stars in my eyes. It was never dull, never empty, never dark. Until one day it just was. And with no North Star, or any light at all, to guide me, I was lost; my mind was a dark abundance of not understanding.  Eventually I grew up some and the darkness was still there. My sky still didn’t contain anything worth looking up to anymore. So every day and every night I walked with my head down in hopes that I could forget my empty sky.
Now my sky is suddenly filled with constellations of my very own broken heart. Each star in the constellation is the face of a boy I thought I loved; and then there’s just one bright, white star for the one I lost to depression and PTSD. I lost him to the war.
Ever since my sky’s been not as dark. Tell me, is the light even worth it if all it does is reveal all the mixed up puzzles pieces of me? My sky remains crooked because the pills confuse me and I don’t know where it starts and ends.
All I know is, it’s dark here and growing up sucks. No more Peter Pan and Neverland, just the broken pieces I call me.