Dear Universe/ Please Send Me Stars

Dear Universe, why

Is it that you made me a poet?

Is it that you see me here

Writing homework with my eyes

Constantly straying to the snow falling

Outside the window I have curled beside,

Constantly resisting the urge to

Write history into poetry with

Metaphors perhaps too pretty

For the purpose of my writing?

Is it that you realize I

Know things that I know

Are not true knowledge? I

Know the stars are not freckles

Of the night’s face, and yet

I know that for poets it is the

Undeniable truth that there 

Are always wildflowers for those who

Want to see them; they

Are blooming from our hearts and

Will always be seen in the cracks

We see blossoming from this earth;

You have at your fingertips thousands

Of dreamers; you

Have in fact filled your universe

With them, a requirement

For a ticket to Earth, and yet

You have chosen me to

Muse constantly about how

Every one of my words is a shout

Into a void in which I will always hope

Has stars scattered through to

Make me feel that my insignificance is

Significant; 

Universe, I know I am one, but

Why is it that you

Made me a poet?