The Moon is just a big pile of rocks
And flowers are just weeds
But even with these descriptions
We only see the beauty and light
How the petals of a flower are bright and vibrant
How their smells bring the butterflies and bees
So why can’t we just see the beauty in ourselves
Yes we are just big balls of flesh stomping on all the flowers
And hiding from the moon’s glow,
But do you ever stop to consider how parts of our bodies were made to be touched?
Not in a strange way but in a way that makes us laugh and smile,
Or whenever we make a promise we lock pinkies to seal it?
We tend to forget these little things when we are feeling lost and blue,
So when you feel this way come back to this poem and say
“The moon is just a big pile of rocks”
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