who i am and why i'm not (poetry)

poem about the moon

at its peak, the night sighs.

pitch black tucks in the earth,

kissing our heads goodnight.

eyes across the land are closed,

but the moon just now stirs

her grand limbs.

I lay awake, ogling at her dim glow.

it is her turn to be seen.

she outshines billions of

stars for my attention.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

why does the night feel like

the only moment I can exist as myself?

day puts me in a spotlight, and

I act as others want me to.

they see me best in the brightness,

but i am the least amount of me.

the night expects nothing

but the grotesque rawness,

my sparkling truth.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

i look into the many eyes of the

giant grey rock floating above,

hoping she notices my

pretty green ones from

thousands of miles away.

does she have an angle that

she thinks is more beautiful

then another?

does her chin protrude less from

the left, her nose less of a

mountain if she turns away

ever so slightly?

does the moon ever ache in

the shadow of the sun?

I wish I could tell her how much

I look up to her, that little

hole in the blanket of darkness.

I wish she could see how her light

cascades off my skin,

drips into my soul like a cosmic IV.

sunrise is near,

and I grieve for the small death, all our

small deaths,

of the moon.

I will smile until I see her again

at dusk, and finally,

I will cry.

-V