moon in leo
poem by December Lace
My divine flesh requires a constant spotlight.
And when the beams of radiance are denied to me,
I wither in the darkness
shriveling, until the promise of a halo rests on my scalp.
All the instances of feeling sick and battered
seem to make sense now that I know.
A lunar lioness, I am compelled to stalk the stage
at all times on padded paws,
hunting with keen and vicious eyes
that prey on precious glitter and the glimmer of light.
Attention is my meat,
magnetism to my mane of golden beams;
I feed on strangers’ gazes, fueling their energy,
pouring their attention into me.
I lure their desires, they invest
in the promise of my actions,
hooking an audience in my bladed claws
razors for clapping, incisors for cheers–
tongue runs ruby down a powdered chin.
But if my mane is gathered in forked hands, trapped in shadows,
my roar can collapse in my ribcage before
it even hits my collarbone.
I’m dangerous without my halo.