Dear Moon,
he thinks he’s god,
why should he not?
the world
black screen, square corners, world,
long lines of secret language, world,
after all is his
is there anything of mine
he cannot touch?
my time, my endless daydreams
he already has so much
i quiver at the keyboard
hover over send
he can crack computers like an egg
write code that follows you
his shadow any shade
his shadow
must cover over me
these clicks
must echo
must be tracing paper
on a light box
(i think he might be hacking me)
~ Love-hacked
Dear Love-hacked,
Hello, sweet hacker,
If you’re listening now,
tell me–
what are you wearing?
Where do you live?
Are you busy
peeling layers
off your lover’s
flashing screen?
Do you even
exist?
Love-hacked,
you deserve, of course,
to live unobserved,
but that may not be the problem here.
We live flooded
by “life-hacks” and “work-hacks.”
Let me offer you
a plain fact:
You should only be in love
with someone
whom you do not
need to ask,
“Are you spying on me?”
Love,
The Moon
***
Dear Moon,
i have been held captive by DJ Metatron for hours now. i keep on vibing, writing poetry about saturn and keeping candles alit. it is late. my housemates wish to go to sleep, i wish to give them the silence necessary. but i cannot turn it down. amidst what can be described only with the words “stockholm syndrome”, i expand and contract, accept myself and others, feel a deep holy unity with humans and matter. dear moon – i don’t know what to do. i cannot turn it down. help.
sincerely yours, Traumprinzessin
Dear Traumprinzessin,
Those purple shadows
your roommates wear
are not by choice!
That sleepless air
that listless shuffle–
I would never
halt a body
from dancing
when movement must declare!
But, traumprinzessin,
your insomniatic anthems
can stay within your ears–
headphones: buy a pair.
Love,
The Moon
***
Dear Moon,
Christ! I am sore from seeking,
seeking, through this endless list
of job postings when all are wrong for me.
The world outside seems so smooth–
They win awards, get married, published, travel far.
How do others do it so easily?
Lord! This trial is exhausting.
I am faint from lack of outlook.
My last resort–grad school?
What do you think?
Signed, Prospect-less
Dear Prospect-less:
Did you think you were absent
the day
the rest of us
were given maps,
drawn,
to the rest of our lives?
Did you think you
skipped
that day in school?
The internet lives
of friends
and foes
are two-dimensional,
Put down your phone.
We all have depths
that Instagram
will never show.
We are all
hurtling
like hell
forward–
toward new stars or black holes,
we don’t know.
There’s no way it couldn’t hurt.
Love,
The Moon
***
Got a question? Write to the Moon with your poetic queries and we’ll share what she has to say.
The Moon is an astronomical body that orbits Earth, thought to have formed about 4.5 billion years ago. Her power is vast and mysterious. She lives approximately 238,855 miles away. Here, she channels her advice through Selene Ross.
Photo by Olivia Maia.
