š
āDonāt trust the moon, Sheās always changing.ā
thatās what i was told as a child.Ā
iāve grown older with false pretenses of an evil moon.
I donāt believe it anymore
I love the moon.
I fell in love with the moon.
I wanted to be the moon.Ā
Far away, able to vanish.
I couldnāt be the moon so I found someone to be it for me.
Over time iāve realized iām not the sun or the moon.
Iām some far out dwarf planet yet to be discovered
I tried to be the sun.
When I was the sun no one cared
I shined bright
I shined and gave my light to anyone who asked
I made everyone around me happy at my own expenseĀ
Eventually a solar eclipse happened.
My light was blacked outĀ
covered by his
he didnāt mean to though?
i went to my room the other day and i found a shoebox
the shoebox I put all the shit you gave me in
The locket you gave me when I turned 16
The photo of us on our first date at that shitty gas station.
i just drove by that gas station, they want $4 a gallon.
the high heels you bought me on my 17th birthday
the sparkly ones
where you said they didnāt sparkle as bright as my smile
how stupid was I to believe you
on my 18th birthday you gave me the best gift of all.
money.
you owed me a lot more than you gave me.Ā
you only wanted me for money and sex.Ā
i caught on quickly.
I stayed though.Ā
You dimmed my light.Ā
caused a solar eclipse.
the whole time I was thankful
it was just me
only one eclipse.
you were with other women.
i thought only 2 planets could overlap.
clearly i failed science.
you told me the sun was your favorite
so i morphed and changed to be the sun for you
and when i became the sun
you put out my light
iāve realized that i probably shouldāve listening to my childhood warning.
the moons strange.
different shapes and sizesĀ
you change how you look
you buzz your hair
you shave your mustache
it doesnāt matter
youāre still the moon
thatās bullshit warning was false
donāt trust the moon
he never changes.
2d ago
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When I was little and we would drive back from a religious event for a god I didn't believe in, the car tense in ways that you only understand if you know too much about your parents and they know nothing about each other or you, my little sister asleep in the back next to me, I'd watch the moon. It was comforting finding her shining up there. So far away from my small life, so cold, so bright.
And then when I was a bit older, fully embroiled in my Percy Jackson obsession, I'd picture Artemis up there as the moon, bounding along by, always watching over me. I'd think of Thalia and the other Huntresses and pledge to myself never to sacrifice myself for a man after seeing what they could do to the women I knew. I'd walk home from swim practice or be back in my parents car, talking to Artemis in my head, not believing she was actually there, but needing someone who was listening.
In college, going home late from a friend's apartment, or just a late evening in the lab, I'd walk with one earbud in pepper spray in hand, alert. But I'd always pause to look at the moon, feeling grateful, protected against all reason in the moonlight. My constantly changing consistent friend.
And now I don't see her as much, rarely outside at night undistracted. I pause every time I do though. A silent reminder of how small I really am in the face of everything. Not alarming but soothing somehow. I'm doing my best, I don't have to be perfect. She will always be there to watch me go on.
Feb 16, 2025
š
it's ok to be messy, i tell myself, impatient. like im a master welder of change, as if self-examination can manifest in quick transitions of the soul. imperfections aren't impossible to mend, but they take time. i'm still evolving! so, i look to the moon, my bible, and i seek explanation. why does my skin crackle and crawl with self-hate, oh, moon? why am i such a such a such an imperfect creature? it smiles, glowing like a compass, an orb-my light when there was none, it bares its teeth, cheeky. "we are all broken, but trying," it reminds me. "your pain, your insolence, your weakness are not exceptional." self-hate is not a vehicle worth dabbling in. why sell your soul to the Devil when you can take another path, a path less brutal and more becoming to your complexities? it asks, it asks like i am not riddled with a self-hate like a vortex, that i am not being sucked into the tides, being devoured by the sands and the vastness of the ocean, my spiritual arteries combusting, shaking in the earth to "Tere Bin Nahin Lagda Dil Mera Dholna." we are so much more than the ghosts in our ears whispering damage. i want to heal, i want to forgive myself when i ask the moon, it says, "you're already there. just open your eyes." now, let go.
Feb 11, 2025
ā
i didn't think they were when we first met. i mean, why would i? they were suave, confident, hot. filled to the brim with sticky hubris and emotion. but everyone has a vice, and the best of people keep theirs well hidden. so i find myself here, the place where all good characters begin-- in love. i definitely wasn't expecting it, but that's another story entirely.
i think insecurity is a cautious devil. like the fairy stories i was raised on, it's cunning, a trickster. it masquerades as many things- pride, confidence, and anger being the most prevalent flavors. my lover is none of these things, save maybe a bravado that only comes from finally having the courage to live truly as oneself after years of running. this bravado is enticing, but not necesarily a symptom. perhaps the greater fault is that i am entirely consumed by their personhood. i, like a crocodile on a winters day, bask in the sunlight of their soul. if my limbs were iron i would carve wheels from pure stone and a wagon of aged wood and use it to drag myself to their feet. yet, love is farsighted, and time has revealed the true deliciousness of their personhood rests on the facet that they too, are human.
so, we make our bed in the meadows and we fight our battles in the night. i speak more than i listen, they keep feelings like secrets. they shrivel and burrow to avoid, whereas i become louder to confront. our love is indeed an unlikely story. but i like it, and i want to make it. so, i find myself getting quieter, conceeding more. i let them win and ask them to decide. they do, and we fight sometimes. they would rather be disappointed than rejected. god, don't we all.
i speak in riddles and they in fact. maybe we are too different but we don't let it deter us, for we are far more the same than we could ever realize. still, when i speak plainly they assume puzzles, when i gently correct they quiver, when i say too much they internalize, communication rought by years of passive agressive parents and partners before me. i, who have known none of this, continue my ramblings, wanting only to share more of myself with my lover. i say the wrong thing. there is no wrong. i say things. they hurt.
i don't often mean it the way they take it. their interpretation is a faulty compass that rarely points to true north. sometimes the sheer polarity of their interpretation shocks me. i say i'm tired, they ask if i want them to leave. my direct mind cannot wrap around their curved one. if i wanted them to leave i would have asked. and i would never want such a thing. i say i am scared to become dull. they apologize for ruining me. i ask them what they want, they cannot give an anwer. insecurity is not a trait, it is a tyrant. i see them beneath the ruling scepter but i cannot budge them out from under it.
so i try to be gentle. i speak softly. i conceed. i give them exactly what they ask for. i have been trained on what to avoid. i wonder if this training is making me trickier, or more like the partners and parents that made them this way in the first place. i am no saint, i wish i could learn to shut my desperate eager mouth, a chore i have resisted and fought since childhood with the will and stubborness that remains unchanged. still i ache. the constant intent on misunderstanding me ages my soul. i feel the ache begging them from within my loving eyes. "see me as i am, lover," it cries, "please hear me as i am."
Jan 13, 2025
