I am the moon,
a secondary character
in someone else’s story.
That “someone” is the Earth,
a being I revolve around
who only revolves around another.
That “another” is the sun,
a being who everyone marvels at,
the source of all light and life.

I wish I could be your sun.
The object of your attention,
of your affection,
the source of everything you
can’t possibly live without.
Because you are my world.
I would happily keep spinning
circles around you
if it meant you would finally
lift your head to the sky
and see me.

I’ve never understood what
you see in him.
All he ever does is burn.
His light hurts your eyes,
and you can’t even look;
his secrets hidden below the
warm façade of his surface.
The heat he gives off
singes your skin making it
hot to the touch and
while red has always been
a dazzling color on you,
I hate that it’s a mark left by him.
And when you pull back
to keep from getting scarred,
his absence leaves a hole
that pulls you right back in
for more, like his gravity’s pull
never let you go.

And in the background, I stand,
waiting for you to run to me,
the master of manipulating
your tears—like the tides—into a smile
that shines so bright I think
it might outdo his very existence.
And when you’re done using me
to make yourself feel better
for always getting too close just
to get scorched by his unhealthy rays,
engaging in this toxic dance of
back and forth,
you continue to squint in his direction
hoping he’ll happen to notice you
instead of tilting your head to notice me
among all the stars I have to offer you.

I wish I could be your sun
because maybe then you could
realize that he was never
good enough for you.
And he will always keep shining
to lure in the ones who are captivated
by his very being,
only to hurt them in favor of
shining for another.

Then again, if being the sun
leads to heartbreak and scars
just know that I will always be
Your Moon.