Poetically Not Poetic

I Am The Moon.

Some time ago,
the Moon was done with Earth.
She gave up and stopped trying -
she believed herself to be dirt.

The Sun though huge,
had no effect on the Moon.
Her rays though bright,
simply reflected off the Moon.

Days passed to weeks.
She now orbits around the earth,
because she can't pull out.
From one side happiness pulls and falters;
and the other, in loneliness she is submerged.

Millions of stars in the vicinity;
she's a lone being among infinities.
In her own atmosphere she is suffocated;
Pulled down, silenced.
Her spins like of the ocean waves;
still, with inspiration dispensed.