crushed little stars that i hold in my hands.

every little star in the dusky night sky,

has a story that collects together.

i hold the stars in my hands,

and count them one by one,

watching the stories unravel.

some stars poke me and leave scars,

and others have scars themselves.

each star is special,

each star seems so alone.

when the stars return to their home in the dusky night sky,

they collect together into a constellation,

each star's story connects and finds it's place.

some stars stay in my hands because they feel they do not belong,

and i whisper to the little stars,

that each of them really do belong.

some stars are brighter,

some are more dull,

some a plump,

and some are small.

some are distorted,

and some not at all.

some are tall,

some are short.

but no matter what they are,

no matter what the stars are feeling,

the stars do actually belong.

in some small or big constellation,

in the big dusky sky.