Let's get into the woods
while the moon is awake.
Hide from the society's eyes
that never fail
to see the odds,
the bad in every good.
Now that we are in the
middle of this forest,
show the scars, bruises
and calloused hands
that we almost
spent half of our life
trying to conceal.
Don't worry,
the moon isn't like them.
YOU ARE READING
Constellation
PoetryHere lies the speck of words orbiting in my own galaxy that was once lost but finally found its own constellation.
