Tag Archives: anchored

I Am a Stone

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I am a stone.
Crashings of the waves
beat me barren and raw,
wear me into abyss,
as if I wasn’t here at all.
Until I am a pebble.

And by moon of shame,
the tides flow above me
and through my veins,
and the very essence of the girl I am,
thieves that word I once called my name.
Just a pebble, now.

Until I am no more at all.

And whispers of a stream,
through crevices and cracks,
rivulets of siren tears,
drowning dirt and grass.
But receding back,
with threat in heart,
and home left sole.
Costly memories,
too lonely to forget.

I am a pebble.

And when boulders and shoved above me,
and the ground is
no ground at all.
When I am caked in mud
on every side,
unable to move,
but unable to fall.
As time wears on,
and no less cold,
than an arctic tundra.
Here I am again.

I am a stone.

And here, beneath the surface.
Strong and below the water.
Untouched, underwater.
Drowning beneath obligation,
set forth by preparation,
I am stone.
And unmoving.

Shatter me ten thousand times.
Destroy me, I suppose.
It makes no matter anymore,
I shall wake once again,
stronger than before.

Wear me away with your tide
and ocean,
Freeze and breathe into me.
Beat me into pebbles,
and then there shall be more,
feed your ego and insecurities,
just as sad as before.
Will you never change?
Will you never grow?

Thousands and millions of years
you may torture.
Treacherous foe, I bow to no one,
find me companions, leave me alone.
Makes no matter.
I’ve thousands of years, millions,
to be whole.

And you?
A hole.

And anchored in my place.
I live on.

A debt of gratitude for you,
because I am stronger without you.