Pisaries Creator

As I stand under the moon, I imagine it pulsing, out and in, full of life,
a kind of life I can't see but knows deep inside me that it is there, out and in. 
It has to be there because alien life can't be any other way than what
is in my mind from the movies I've watched and the stories I've
read, there is truth to both, and I will not commit to another belief
but my own I carry deep within my heart where no one can it 
or touch it or feel it or know it except me. For I don't let anyone
else into my zone for a few human beings flitting in and out
of my life but never staying for too long. I don't need the
spotlight and neither do they want me close to them. 
The words I want to utter remain silent within me and I will continue

on this path I have stood and walked with small feet and misshapen 
toes and dry heels because this hard life I have weaved 
deliberately in this tapestry falling apart. Some may call it my own 
doing and it is and have no sympathy for me and others call it pure bad luck, 
for no one should have this string of misfortune and unkindness served in bowls
spilling over onto their laps and napkins. Under this moon,
the bright fullness of the future lingers before my eyes and my mind 
needs a long winter rest, but I won't get it now or next year,
and when the weather turns warmer, I wonder how I got here, how we all got here
and what this silence means because I'm hearing nothing but fearful noises 
around me that I can't think clearly or see anyone in front of me.