I Am the Queen of the Wishing Star

I can't do this anymore.
Molasses presses down my throat, tasting blue.
What I wouldn't give
To lift these rusty shackles
And cry to the fading evening of
Everything I live for as whole and true.
Some genetic authorities of mine
To be lost in the might, the weight
Of their all-or-nothing power
Far, far away from my beaten being. So
I cry to the fading evening of
The world ​of solely myself, where only I
Can identify and decide what's best.
On this planet called Me, I am the Queen.
It is a monarchy, and you do not deserve
For me to be anything but unforgiving.
Only I know what's best for me.
My freedom wish becomes a wisp of magic,
Twists into a thread of light,
Spirals to one whisper of hope,
A dandelion-puff rope reaching to one special star
That I didn't notice before. I lay back,
Channeling somewhite speck across
The inky purple canvas called night. My wishing star,
I wonder what it's name is.
Someday, I'd like to meet it.