Waning and Waxing

You often tell me I am like the moon

Elegant and 

Pale 

And I beam just as she would

Above the clouds on all things

Dark and

Night

And for a long while I shone

But can the moon exist 

Perfectly

Or is it chipped and

Damaged

With flesh scooped so violently 

By other larger

Brighter beings

I am no longer shiny like the moon

And when you speak it I frown

Like a crescent in the sky

Hidden 

By the clouds