I Stole the Stars

I stole the stars from the sky,
little pinprick lights,
dropped them at your feet
and let them die.
And though they may
have lost their shine,
I like to think it matters
that I reached into the night
and stole what rightfully belongs
to god,
or maybe just
someone with money,
f*****g NASA,
just for you.
 
You used to lay by my side in bed,
feed stories into my head
as I kiss the sweat off your face,
treasure the heartbeat in your chest.
You used to tell me that,
years ago,
you found something so precious
that nothing you possess
can measure up,
that you’re bored of health
and wealth and
fame and
blood,
and I have tried with every
fiber of my being to find
something to give you,
settled down on one knee
and extending my very life
to your beautiful hands,
to slide onto your ring finger.

You looked at me like you were bored,
and of course,
of course you were.
“My dear, there is nothing beautiful
about death.
Damn the poets and
damn their breaths.
Each sigh is another promise
that your demise will find you
and I
never want to lose you.”
And with that,
we swept those fragile wisps of light
under the rug.
 
I stole an ocean to give to you,
brought you to see it in the night.
The moon hit its surface
and I thought I’d cry.
It shone, but never died.
It moved like time,
undefined,
swaying gently as if to give
into a breeze
that pushed and pulled it,
like a feather in the wind.
 
I thought for a moment
it might turn red,
embarrassed at the way you stared.
I thought for a moment
I’d finally found it,
asked you how your riches compared.
And you smiled at me,
like you always do,
and I hate that look,
but I love it, too.
And you took my hand and walked away
and I followed you all the way home.
“That ocean isn’t deep enough
to house the treasures that I own.
The moonlight reflected looks so pretty,
but so do you.” You spoke.
You poured the wine
and we drank all night.
By morning light,
the ocean was dried.
 
I stole a city for you to rule,
with steel and lead
and cruelty.
Though god may not,
I do not care,
so long as you forgive me.
Cars sat vacant in the streets-
the skyscrapers called your name.
The gash they opened in the clouds
gave you shelter from the rain and I
stood just behind you,
eyed the edge,
terrified you’d fall.
Paid my respects to the dead,
their sacrifices put to bed.
I looked at you and you turned to me,
asked me how I got it all.
 
And believe me, dear,
there are things I keep from you
if only
to protect you.
But I told the truth,
couldn’t lie to you
when you looked at me
the way you do and
you said you liked the view
but that you’d never sleep,
and could I please
walk you down, off the roof?
And I did,
and I took you home
like I do every night.
That town burned down
while you slept.
You asked if it was me
and I told you it might.
 
I stole a mountain for you to have.
A war was fought over its peaks.
And they’re yours now! And can’t you see
I wrapped it up so lovingly
in sunlight,
in mountain goats and pine trees.
The hills are stained with ancient blood,
ancient sin and ancient lust.
The bones of men with ambitions
are buried under that snow.
I give it all to you,
hope you take it in
and I hope the history
makes it worth the cold.
 
You shiver, find shelter in my arms.
I wrap my coat around your frame.
“Such a pretty hill,
but I’ve caught a chill,
and I’m ready to go home again.”
I carried you down the mountain
to protect your feet from harm.
You pulled me down onto the couch,
kissed me and told me to lay down.
You brought me tea and promised me
one day we would be happy.
But today I stole a mountain
and still don’t have your hand yet.
 
I lost my temper today.
I carved your face into that mountain
with my bare hands and a chisel
just to take out some aggression.
I want to know who gave you
such a thing that the stars don’t shine
bright enough for your sensibilities.
I want you to be mine.
I want to find the person
that gave you something so goddamn rare
it makes a city look like rubble.
I just don’t think it’s fair.
I want to know what you have
that makes the ocean look like mud,
a mountain look like a molehill
and a glass of vodka look like love.
I want you to tell me what it’ll take
for you to stay with me.
And you laugh and I just die inside,
but the words you say are poetry, like
 
“You think that I won’t stay with you?
You come home with me each night.
Don’t act surprised you just can’t find
anything to match what I’ve described,
because it’s love that outshines
everything you’ve offered.
You’re the one that gave me what’s mine.
It’s your heart, your adoration,
your devotion and your time.
I asked for an inch and you gave me a mile.
You’re the one that lives to see me smile.
I’ll hold your hand til one of us dies
and that’s on the stars,
the moon and the ocean.
You gave me your hand and I took it
like potion
and I’m drunk, and have been
since the day we met.
If this is how you propose,
my answer is yes.”