The Moon

The moon in all it's brightness tonight cast that ever so dark light upon my soul, a feeling of falling. To be enough? To meet the expectations of the world and all that seem to find me shortcoming and insufficient.
I curse the moon and the day I found a dream in it. I would wish it to explode and fall into us destroying all that it brings it's lying promise to. The hope of the hopeless. The dream of those who sleep not. The breath of those who are buried.
The ever so gut wrenching truth that seems to stab me in the heart over and over after convincing myself otherwise stabs me again... I'm not good enough. A personal attack upon my person.
Will I ever be,,, for anyone? It's very doubtful. I should just accept the defeat and deminish into the shadow away from the moon rays and accept that almost etched in stone reallity that I am only common and unworthy. Instead I convince myself that I am special and beautiful, lying to myself in hopes that perhaps I am found worthy to bask in moonlight with the holy. Yet I stick out like a sore thumb, an ugly blemish on a world of beautiful women.
No more... I accept what and who I am. 

Melancholy

Forgive me my meloncholy, love, but I am lost yet again in another rainy day. I am enchanted with heaven's water fall, and so for a time shall I stay. Bewitched with this dance so that all that is in existence from me could pass away. But soon I shall return, for soon this dance will end, then to lifes bed I will again lay. And dream of rain and thunderstorms to come, and for their comfort pray.