The Moon
They say to shoot for the moon
because even if you fall
you are a star,
but the stars hate the moon,
hating how its existence
is a beacon for a race won,
a goal reached.
they hate the moon
and the way people plant flags
and footsteps,
shouting to the rest
how they are the best,
and that the moon is big
and theirs.
they hate the people
who land on the moon
and the all-nighters who see it,
how they explore and adore,
how it changes,
and how even in the light
you can see it.
they hate the moon.
the only one recognized
as our very own,
orbiting in our circle,
making even Jupiter jealous
with its many moons.
their small successes
are nothing like the moon we have
famous words on.
the stars are jealous of the moon
because it will never burn out,
never be long forgotten,
an afterthought of constellations
burned with the fuel
of missed opportunities
and dreams so close.
no villains seeking the adoration
of owning merely a star,
something anyone can put
their name on.
the moon is imposing
in every sky,
the only one
that is great on its own,
craters and all.
it does not need to be arranged,
named,
or aligned just right
to matter.
the stars are only as great
as the ones they are clumped with
to make a picture
or a story.
the stars hate the moon
because they are second,
the consolation prize you win
when you weren’t great enough
to be loved
to the moon
and back.
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