Scholars and writers like to paint my story
As a tragic romance,
But there was no love,
Only the patriarchal expectation of marriage.
I was naïve enough to believe
That maybe the sentiment would grow,
But you only loved yourself
So I took away the opportunity
For immortality and a legacy
Written in a liquid thicker than ink.
I escaped to the moon
With only my rabbit,
And you know what?
I was fine up there.
We eat all the cakes we want
Without worrying about how weight gain
Would make you look bad,
And I smile with the mysterious cat
That Westerners said was up there.
Maybe you’ll call me a crazy cat lady,
But I learned that to be alone
Is not the equivalent of being unsatisfied.
So every month, I make the moon shine fully
To remind those like my younger self
That they are already whole.