The crescent moon glows modestly
in the dead of night.
Its presence is always made known.
Is it quietly confident
or deeply diffident?
Despite its predictability
and its cyclical pattern,
a full moon retains its novelty.
So far out of reach,
much like the relationship
between her and herself.
Her love for herself
in its thinnest crescent,
almost entirely absent,
but the glow from the crescent
is enough to keep her alive.
Her self-love passes through the cycle
each day waxing
until it’s wonderfully full.
And she can once again
be entirely and emphatically as she is,
blissfully unafraid of her own existence.
Yet the moon will inevitably begin to wane.
She shrinks into herself
waning with the phases of the moon.
Diminishing her chance
of being too deeply assessed.
She gleams modestly
against the vast emptiness of the night.
her own glowing image of herself,
in the fathomless darkness of her mind.