Science of Heartbreak

Every cell in my body will be replaced within seven years

This information has given me many an existential crises

If I am new, then who’s to say I am still me?

How do I have the same memories?

If I ate mainly cheetos, then does that mean I am made of cheetos?

Well, I guess, since everything is recycled on this planet, I am made of the plants that made the cheetos, the plants are made of the soil's nutrients, and the nutrients are made of other living things, and those were made of soil, and the soil came from the Earth, and the Earth came from cooling bits of dead stars trillions of years ago

So, today or seven years from now, I am made of stars, and so are cheetos.

I guess that means Donald Trump and feces are made of stars too, but I was probably made of the prettier ones.

Being a new person in seven years, as a wise poet once said, would also mean I will have a body you have never touched.

I will have lips you’ve never kissed.

I will have a mind you have never known

And a heart you will not have broken

Every scar will be made of stardust

Not the shattered pieces you left me in

I will not waste precious tears on the moments you left me broken

Or worthless

Or not enough

Or not as good as my best friend, who’s body you’d rather admire even if we’re all made of stars and I gave you mine

I am going to be extraterrestrial

Out of this world

Completely Galactic

I am going to be planets and skies and things so massive you will be such a fool for ever making me feel little

I am made of stars

I know I used to see constellations in your freckles

Nebulas in bright blue eyes

Your existence was my universe--I defined home in your name

Seven years from now, I will have forgotten the taste of your lips

The feel of your skin

The way my body felt empty each time you left me when I needed you most

You will be a new body I’ve never touched

A new person I will not meet

And someone who’s never broken me

We will not be the same people we were seven years ago

The universe will be so much bigger, and so will I

There will be no galaxy in your smile

The place I called home all those years ago will not exist

I will be the galaxy

I will be my own home

I am stars

I just have to keep going until those seven years come

And everything will be new


(And I may or may not be made of cheetos?)


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This is really beautifully done, you gave me a Shane Koyczan vibe.


This poem is freaking awesome. Not sure how I feel about putting the name of our president and feces in the same sentence... but otherwise, kudos!

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