i don’t like them
but
they’re all i seem to make
and every time
the ground shakes
the wind blows
a fucking stray leaf
disturbs it
it
c
r
u
m
b
l
e
s
and so i hate
that i can’t build
anything but sand castles
and
y
e
t
the sand
that keeps piling
on the ground
You turn
to something
precious.
to precious,
precious
glass.
all blown
and smooth
and beautiful.
steady, unyielding
yet still
breakable.
someday though,
someday i will be diamond
and nothing
n
o
t
h
i
n
g
will break me then.
and i will not crumble.
nor will i break.
i will be indestructible.
for now, though
for now i hold
my plastic shovels
and build
another one.
