Gazing Inward

I own a telescope that has never seen stars.

Instead, it is turned toward those around me

Examining every constellation in the eye,

Every freckle dusting the skin.

My telescope does not satisfy curiosity,

But supports vain judgment.

Why, why, why?

Why is her laugh so enticing?

Why is her skin so smooth?

Why am I not her?

Why is she so flawless?

Fog and tears cloud my telescope,

But still I must watch.

I am but a moon amongst suns,

Never shining of my own accord.

My telescope has not yet once seen the stars,

And so on a day just like any other

I took leave of those around me

And hopelessly gazed above,

to see myself.

I realized what my telescope does not see.

That I am not just made of my exterior,

But that I can whisper the waves to and fro,

That I can change my shape to come and go.

My telescope gazes inward now,

To see myself and all that I can be.

I can admit to seeing craters, scars, and darkness.

But is that not what being flawless entails?

The accepting of light and dark and all other details?