wishing on a satellite

tonight the night is dark and cold,

even the stars have wrapped themselves up

in the cloak of clouds.

I went and knocked on your window

offering to come in and keep each other warm,

but when you kissed my lips

I realized you'd already found warmth in another substance,

so I left.

Now, here in my room,

eating chocolate and drinking peppermint tea,

I wish poetry could answer the question for me

why are all guys jerks?

But, writing does not answer longing,

only amplifies and allows outlets,

through which empathy can be acquired – if I'm lucky.

And if I was to label all guys jerks,

I spit in the faces of all the sweet nerds,

the gentle giant jocks,

who wouldn't harm a fly if it was caught,

the guy with the guitar

hoping someday,

he'll have a girl to play for...

and there are so many more.

And if all guys are jerks, then what is a woman's worth?

Are we innocent angels eternally?

Do we treat men like we want to be treated?

Tonight I wish upon blanketed stars

not for answers I don't really want to know,

but the wisdom to embrace who we are,

and to know when it's gone too far.

That he's out there, somewhere.

though I know I'll never find him if I go looking. 

I wish on stars I have to believe in,

because beneath the clouds, there's no telling

if there even are any at all.

The End

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