Space.

Our origin, 

birthright. 

Gravity encasing,

touching every inch,

holding you.

We are judged by our volume and mass. 

The amount of space we hold.

As if 

the stars will carve snide remarks out of their carbon.

Meant to erode our spirits. 

Subsequently, we’re taught to retrace

the paths, 

so our neurons can flow with ease,

so the synapse is free of, 

mortal standards.

Gravity does not judge,

masses of meteorite do not judge,

so why do we judge,

when the stars will always welcome us 

home.