You are the horrid moon
that seeks to wreak havoc
inside me, with a rope
you pull me to you, and I
let you, and I leap high
and higher and higher,
always assured that I’m about
to reach you, but you’re
only close enough to
make me dance to your tune,
far enough to know that
no matter how high a tide
you draw from me, it will
never be high enough to
come swelling and swirling
and gushing and gurgling
into your orbit, so you follow
the earth, round and round
and round, and you hope
that I will be satisfied with
my haphazard and futile tries,
but you have forgotten that
the earth might be my mother,
but I cannot be contained
like her, and I will be the ocean
only to let all the anger trapped
inside me rise up and up to
come back as a hurricane
and swallow all that it can,
so I can start a new life,
severed from the rope you hold.