Even the Moon has Wreckage

I’m always testing the ones who love me

even though the number is few.

Sweet words are so foreign

I don’t trust them to be true.

Like the moon,

showing the world pretty bright lights

and hiding a part of itself never to be seen.

Letting people in is so hard when you know

They are so likely to go

after rubbernecking at the wreckage.

And bruises fade faster if no one keeps pressing into them.