By Hannah Vance

My lungs are filled with liquid and my shoes are filled with moss
My mind knows what she’s doing but my heart I find is lost
There’re paths that wind and die; I can’t remember which I’ve crossed
No longer can I tell which words are lies; potential’s tossed

The fossil of my fortune is foreshadowed in failure
Cursive makes my title neater, distracting from its nature
I find a bed my size, just right, I make it and I lay there
But Goldilocks cut her story short and we know she couldn’t stay there

The moon, my idol, always hanging far too low and far too close
Reflecting back a former figure in an unfamiliar pose
It’s blurry and unclear the line dividing friends from foes
A certain sense of certainty, up from the grave it rose

Don’t worry, before I know its face it’ll be back beneath the soil
Caterpillars change to butterflies; it’s illogical to be loyal
The fantasy’s fantastic the potential’s nearly royal
But you step too far from normal and feel your toes begin to boil

They’ll pluck your teeth straight from your head, make you think you’re still a kid
They’ll dangle them in front of you, remind you what you did
Bid insecurity goodbye, cap cups off with new lids
But something simmers under your skin, still filled with bubbling acid

Gentle, untouched outside, it’s hard to gaze past the gloss
My lungs are filled with liquid and my shoes are filled with moss.

Lunar is a poem about my personal experience going through different phases as a teen and the way that has shaped myself, the way I interact with others, and how I present myself to the world.