The Moon

By Audrey Kosla, TIWP Student

Every time I reach for the moon
I come back empty handed
Everyone else seems to succeed
Their hands covered in moondust
While I sit and watch from the sidelines
My own palms holding nothing but failed attempts and empty promises
I have wished on so many dandelions, so many shooting stars
But they are never answered
The universe and its cold shoulders my constant companion
It must be a sorry excuse for a friend
As it refuses to give me the one thing I desire most
Though, maybe, the next time I shoot for the moon
I’ll land somewhere else in the sky
I’ll have to make do with the stars
And be the brightest one alive

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