Anna McFarland | poetry | Stellar

Stellar

I’m not sure what’s inside me,
but I took an astronomy class.
Sometimes, I think, it might be
a black hole, and I am just that:
a mass taking all of your spare time, 
prismatic I love you’s, answers 
to neverending questions – anything 
it can get, only ever consuming 
yet never satiated. It’s a gluttonous, 
violent thing, always taking because 
of need and, maybe, want. They lie 
out there among all of the stars 
in the universe, an empty silhouette 
surrounded by glittering lights, just 
illuminating reminders of what they 
once were. My professor said that as 
they devour more, the gravity becomes 
even harder to avoid. And still you – 
what if you are what scientists thought 
to not exist: what if you can resist me,
and I get nothing, and I am insatiable.