When I find valuable gems
My fingers feel cold
As I reach out
Strong, accomplished
Admirable, respectable
But they may not even see it
When they face injury
On their inside or outside
I just sit
I can offer nothing more
But sitting, and questions
Stupid fucking questions
I’m nothing in their shadow
But I’d rather be nothing
Than in the spotlight
In recent years
I’ve found more and more gems
My eyes were blinded
Sometimes by their brilliance
But for some, it turns out
I was scratched by their jagged edges
Rare ones still shine
Their edges are soft
Layers over diamond strength
Torn between silence and questions
Wishing to cradle soft layers
I sit
Stream-of-consciousness garbage from a tired, unclear mind.
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