Feeling the creature, soft and smooth
Wondering if it is real or not, looking at it
The beautiful vivid colors, pink, lots of blues
And greens

This finding is rare, maybe it’s fake, maybe it
Isn’t, I could fly with this idea I have about this creature,
But the scariest thing is knowing it was what made
This thing what it is

The smooth, billions of crooked split things

The object, so unique, that it could be worth millions
They are rare, maybe, maybe not, I think… yes
The vivid colors my parents give off

Their beautiful crooked, split smiles, and the
Way they can be a part of something
So real that this is a part of their wonder less life

Now, this beautiful, vivid colored thing that shines,
With the Brights on a car through my parents
Shines through me
And that thing is crooked and split... that is me

I wonder sometimes, if I am real? Or
Am I fake?
Am I rare? Or am I just
A crooked, wrong, split?

Or a torn, unknown, carless, creature?