for you could have the soul of this multifaceted
rose quartz you found in the middle
one of those fields of daisies
pregnant of your childhood.
may seem stone
it may seem unneeded
of rain and sun does not change,
taxiing to lick my vertices.
might seem an endless structure
shine and every shine, an excuse for not being soft.
For you could be rock,
with lots of prisms,
because you do not know how I got here,
and because it seems that the recent habit
barrier could not hide behind an eternal drift on the slope
of thousands of my broken dreams.
Why then would I be quartz, stone, rock structure or otherwise?
Why would destroy even more?
Why do you think I've been putting my chips on
fragments of life and I decided to live well and have decided to harden
trying to relativize the events?
Did I mind?
Could it be otherwise?
