Letters to the moon🌙

I Am the Poem No One Finishes Reading I am written in fragments. Lines begin, trail off, and the page folds under the weight of the last thing I could not say. People glance at my first stanza and smile politely, then put me down when the punctuation grows sharp. They praise my opening, toss aside my middle, and never stay for the ending that would have made them uncomfortable. I am a draft that never became final. A manuscript with missing chapters. A song with the last verse swallowed by a throat that learned to keep things in. And yet, all the way through, I keep existing — unruly, unedited, waiting for someone brave enough to finish me. The Pleasing Start I know how to begin well. I learned that early—how to make a good first impression, how to craft an opening line that makes people listen. A warm laugh here, the right anecdote there, a tidy vulnerability that doesn’t require effort to receive. They read the introduction and think they understand the writer. They close the book w...