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Small Small Minerals

your words are minerals
formed into rocks of sentences
that break through the surface of my calm river
splash. echo
on the surface I collapse into myself
and bellow.
the rock lies in the sand of my chore
forever changing just how my river may flow
where my river will flow

and over time,
will rocks become the bottom of me?
will I no longer be able to find myself,
buried under all your words, thrown at me?

rocks will turn into sand,
but I will not live a million years.





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