near cape
I watch the moon, and somewhere inside my quiet chest
I whisper — I want to be like her.
Beautiful without begging, gentle without breaking,
flawed and still glowing like it’s no one’s business but mine.
She isn’t perfect; craters lace her like old heartbreak scars,
but she turns every wound into silver mythology.
No one stands close enough to touch or criticize,
yet everyone stays hypnotized by her radiance.
I want that distance — soft but unapproachable,
close enough to admire, far enough to stay safe;
to float beyond careless hands and cold opinions,
and shine with my flaws, not despite them.
If I could learn her lunar language,
I’d ask how she survives being adored from afar,
how she handles eyes that love the glow
but never the shadows that create it.
Maybe one day I’ll become my own moon —
quietly powerful, beautifully scarred,
loved for everything
they were never able to fix.
sleek plover
quartz panther
pine heath
