why is the moon the opposite of the sun when a moon is a moon and the sun is a star? we earth-dwellers presume the whole damn universe revolves around our sad little blue-green-grey marble of a planet that we hook a yellow lightbulb onto a slate blue smokescreen and glue a pockmarked dinner plate to a dirty salted stroke of ink and call it day and night. the whole damn universe wasn't made for you, guy, to glare at through your shit-coloured oakley aviators and shield your face with your flappy meaty hand, to be flippantly observed through hazy low-res instagram story filters that turn the milky whites into gaudy glitter pearls, to snap screenshots of "-tumblr" suffixed internet images only to recycle them through the exact same site with artificial cursive letters carved into the skin of these globular giants with the razor-sharp point of a cursor. the moon is love, we sigh, but also lunacy, we caution, and its cheesy dew condensed on the tips of lovers' noses pressed together in the moonlight does not turn into the hot sweat careening down their rubbing bodies, but it is vapourised by very neutral, unfeeling, uncaring, unwrathful, unenvious rays of ultraviolet, whereby it floats upward to the galaxial heavens and wags a glossy finger goodbye to mouths agape, rejoicing in its freedom from human hands and human minds, celebrating its assimilation into the great big universe. i tell you, the sun does not anger, it does not boast, but it does not love- it may kiss skin to cocoa butter, bathe bodies in golden radiance, draw violets out of the soil to its big ol' sunshiney face, but it also rots and corrupts the carrion, razes sanctuaries of bush and canopy, and spits globs of plasma fire in the earth's face that the moon's ghostly fingers cannot care to gently wipe clean. oh boo hoo, earth, let your tears gully your grassy cheeks and pool into your oceans. yeah, work those tectonic facial muscles as you sob and watch your volcanic pimples explode and throw burning rocks at the cheap mites that squat on your epidermis, the mites who have claimed the knowledge of the whole damn universe as their own. there is no polar line between the colossal sun and little moon to link them together as lovers, as enemies, as times, as omniscient creatures who bless us from the painted sky. after all, case-in-point: he was the sun and i was the moon and everyone on earth said we belonged together but the rest of the damn universe laughed and so did i.
(i, for one, love the sparkly instagram story filters i preach against in this one hahahahhahahahaha)
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Poetryan ongoing collection of the love poems of nobodi. the full anthology of nobodi's poetry, "i'll never be a poet", can be found on wattpad as well.
