The Luna Moth

We filter out every scar

Every line blurs as we seek perfection

Reality is not realistic as we count our value by the length of our telomeres

Computers generate aspirational fiction

Scraping away our skin to find something different

A hit, a like, an ad to fill the void

Dread every wrinkle, cry out when we start to gray

Age shown as a defect, instead of a story

A reminder of all we’ve been through

A memory of all the lives we’ve loved

And lost

Focus on how you looked, not how you felt

Irrelevancy is the new tragedy

We can’t compete if we don’t look the same

An unspoken battle, it’s never enough

It’s exhausting, this internal shame

Are we tired yet?

A Luna moth is at the height of its beauty

When its life is near the end

How much happier do you think we’d be

If we saw each other like we see them