I don't want to be the gem that sits on top a pedestal for admiration, roped off, lights illuminating facets, only touched by those the gem called upon. As beautiful as they are, as lucky as they are, full of worth and glory, that is not where I belong.
I am a precious stone mistaken for an old rock, not worth the dirt it sits on, passed over, stepped on and kicked around. A stone built sturdy and true by time and fire.
Oh, to be seen! I want to be seen!
A glimmer through the dirt, the right moment in time in which someone sees what could be...
No, they see what is.
A jewel that silently calls to be picked up, cleaned up, and thought upon.
A jewel that is to be softened with love, shaped by vision, and polished with want.
A jewel that wants to be what the finder needs, because they were the one that saw more than an old useless rock.
A diamond in the rough.
I want to be held in a pocket, kept safe and warm, close to my finder. Touched throughout the day, to be there when needed, always.
I want to be kicked around and stepped on, treated like I was made to be treated. Then, polished and set upon a shelf until called again.