Author:Elisabeth O’Veal Minor
To the women who feel too much,
who cry at night and don’t know why,
who love too deep and forgive too often,
who glow even when no one’s watching.
We are the moon —
full, half, or hidden —
changing, growing, becoming,
and still, we shine.
Men watch us rise and fall,
but few ever see us.
They love the light,
but fear the shadow that makes it.
They want our calm,
but not our storm.
They forget that tides don’t move without the moon,
and hearts don’t heal without emotion.
They forget that our tears water the earth,
and our silence teaches patience.
They forget that when we pull away,
it’s not rejection —
it’s reflection.
Every phase is a sermon.
Every mood a message.
We are creation and destruction,
the ocean and the pull,
the whisper and the roar.
So let them ignore the waves —
we’ll keep rising anyway.
Because even when unseen,
the moon still moves the whole world.
🌑 Author’s Reflection
Every woman carries the moon inside her. We rise, we fall, we glow, we rest — yet we never lose our light. This poem is for the women who feel misunderstood, and for the men willing to learn her language of tides.
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