Rocky Stone

A Stone

It feels like the worn skin of my grandmother’s hands
smells like a freshly cleaned chalkboard eraser.
with the look like a penny sliced right down its middle.
the surface has so many small indentations that the rock almost appears porous like a sponge.
it tastes like a broken popsicle stick.

forgotten and trampled over many times that its shape has been morphed like a rusty coke can
laying next to hundreds of other stones that at first appear exactly the same
and the very aspects that make it unique are in reaction to outside forces
how can it claim to be an individual when it gives nothing new
I restrict this stone to my lifeless wooden desk.
To remember that we are all carbon copies at first glance