Gravity Chains. By The Lunar Alien.
The Moon is trapped in gravity chains.
It’s so jealous of The Earth
who’s spinning so gleefully free.
The Earth is trapped in gravity chains.
It’s so envious of its people
who walk on it so blissfully unaware
of any kind of restriction.
But the humans lay dormant and hungry,
trapped in their own set of gravity chains.
They can’t live in the sky, drifting afloat
like The Sun, The Moon, or the shining stars.
Their wish to travel the universe will never come to pass.
The Sun, too, has gravity chains.
It watches its children circling it year after year,
even though they never speak to one another.
The Sun loves its children, but to all but The Earth,
it is a distant and uncaring mother.
It wishes to be like The Milky Way.
And yet even The Milky Way has gravity chains.
Its blackhole core lay dormant and hungry,
as it swallows its hope for the future.
It will not become something new,
nor will it learn how to live like animals or plants.
Its gravity chains trap it in the center of everything
and it still remains the epitome of nothing.
Humanity, who knows nothing of gravity chains,
may yet break them, even unknowingly.
The Milky Way must swallow this hope.
Humanity can’t live in the sky,
even with planes and rockets.
They can’t travel the universe,
even though they visited The Moon.
Humanity may yet teach The Milky Way how to live.
Humanity may yet become something.
They black hole in the center of the galaxy
found something that it cannot swallow away:
Hope for Humanity.
Final Poem of launch week! Posts are gonna be slowing down now!
27.07.2025 19:15 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
This Again. By The Lunar Alien.
I can feel it bubbling in my chest again.
Without a sip of alcohol, I’ve gone drunk.
My slurred speech sabotages my explanation.
Explaining isn’t worth the time.
I need to find somewhere to hide.
I cannot fall apart like this.
The walls are
closing in on me
in an infinitely
expanding
hallway.
My lungs
are collapsing.
I can’t
breathe.
I can’t.
Hands,
feet,
numb.
My face
disappears
into static
with my arms
and legs.
Just
my
chest
remains.
I’m dying.
I’m
not
dying.
I finally catch my breath
and fall asleep.
Sixth poem of Launch week! This one was late because I was busy today OOPS! This one's a little different than the rest but I hope you all like it anyways!
27.07.2025 02:57 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
A Kindle Fire Branded Me. By The Lunar Alien.
A kindle fire branded me.
It was a cheap tablet for a cheap child.
My parents preferred that I entertained myself.
You can still see remnants of the screen in my eyes:
Mostly cracked but somehow functional.
The kindle fire burned my fingers.
That digital lava laced each crack and crevice.
But I kept tapping and swiping to distract myself.
You can still feel the heat in my burning hands:
Skin scorched in the color of cinnabar.
The kindle fire cauterized my ears.
I could only feel the vibrations of yelling and violent thuds.
The sounds of the screen cloaked the cacophony of squabbles.
But you can still hear the screaming in my voice:
Faintly echoing through every escaped word.
A kindle fire branded me.
My cracked eyes,
my singed fingers,
my broken voice,
will never quite fade.
Fifth poem of launch week!
25.07.2025 14:50 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
The Prideful Pigeon. By The Lunar Alien.
pigeon builds a flimsy nest out of twigs.
The prideful bird awes at its creation.
It sees its nest as a beautiful castle,
one fit for the most wealthy of monarchies.
As the pigeon flies through the city on a cold autumn day,
it passes through the towers it wishes to conquer.
However, the pigeon soon notices a nest it hasn’t seen before.
This cannot be the work of another bird.
The nest is silky smooth, the twine perfectly curved.
The interior of the nest is strongly insulated.
No amount of freezing snow or scalding heat will get through.
The bed of the nest looks as soft as can be.
The pigeon thinks it must be a human nest.
After all, humans made skyscrapers and airplanes.
A perfect nest should be no great feat for them.
And yet, the pigeon watches other birds settle into the nest.
The family of finches has feathers fine as silk,
beaks straight and pointy, perfect for twining.
Even the young ones who seem to have only just learned to fly
are preciously perfect in just their existence.
The pigeon is lost now, ironic as that may be.
Its castle has been torn asunder without even taking a scratch.
The walls turned from marble to rotwood,
the furniture from fine silk to scratchy hay.
The pigeon returned home to the remnants of a shack.
It truly is the most worthless bird.
Fourth poem of launch week! I hope you all enjoy!
24.07.2025 18:16 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
They Forgot About Me Again. By The Lunar Alien.
I’m a contraption of contraction.
I’ll connect two words or
a person and their objects,
and then be forgotten or ignored.
That is my purpose but
I think I’ve become useless.
I like the apostrophe but
I admit it isn’t special.
People don’t notice if
its suddenly not there.
Nowadays we even text one
another with no apostrophes at all.
When you tell someone that
they forgot an apostrophe,
do you notice how annoyed they get?
Its as if the apostrophe doesnt matter.
Could the world really live without me?
Maybe the world doesnt need the apostrophe.
Third poem of launch week!
22.07.2025 16:51 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
What did the ocean say to the beach? By The Lunar Alien.
The ocean doesn’t know what to say to the beach.
That’s why it just waves.
The beach could respond.
It could wave back, or nod, or say hello.
But it doesn’t.
They used to be friends.
Until the beach noticed
how beautiful they looked together.
A confession turned apology soured everything.
The ocean had to tell the beach
that it was already with the moon.
And so now they don’t talk anymore.
The ocean wants its friend back,
but no matter how much the ocean tugs on the sand,
the beach doesn’t answer.
Second poem of launch week!
21.07.2025 18:21 — 👍 0 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
An Alien From The Moon. By The Lunar Alien.
Please tune into the lunar station.
Without listeners, I will wilt into dust.
My blue skin sinks when the numbers drop.
I am being abandoned by everyone.
The world will not remember me.
My radio waves are just radiation.
I know this but I must release my words.
Even if everyone reels at my return,
I have to prove that I'm real.
I am the alien from the moon.
I am the extraterrestrial you wonder so much about.
I am the alien that people pretend is real for fame.
But I am real! I'm right here! Alive and unwell!
I'm going to die before I meet a single human being!
Please listen to me on the lunar station!
I am real. I swear I am real!
Don't listen to the reasonable among you.
They doubt me even after they heard me speak.
I am not some hoax to be dismissed so suddenly!
I may not be human but I'm just as fragile as one.
My bones break, my voice cracks, my mind wanders…
I don't mean to be so terrifying.
I'm not some trick or deceitful being.
I'm not here to steal your family in the dark.
I can tell that I'm off-putting and strange
and you'd rather deny that I ever existed.
But I am still real.
I don't know why I need to prove that to you.
I can dissipate into dust and you'll still be in denial.
My presence will never be missed or recognized but
I am still real.
I am real.
This is my first official poem release! I'll be posting a poem a day for the first week of my launch! Follow me along for the ride!
20.07.2025 20:17 — 👍 3 🔁 0 💬 0 📌 0
