don’t forget the arms that hold you
are the same that have taken
men and women down on their bellies.
lighters and drinks are all
in good graces
but i can walk away
with more than blood on my hands.
think of that
next time you try to rope me in
“And to this day, the sun has never said to the Earth, You owe me.”
but what if i’m the moon –
would you still trace your fingers
around my craters and find them
or is the space between your nerves around
perhaps im not comfortable.
maybe my arms are too heavy
and my grip too strong.
maybe my elbows are too sharp
maybe i have too much too many things.
too many people
i’m to resentful too young too naive.