I am more precious than crystal. I am stronger, and more luminescent. I am a different kind of stone. You chip away at me and I regenerate, not from thousands of years of wind carrying sediments-- I heal quicker than that. I grow a new layer of skin every time that I cry. When I feel hurt, I sharpen my bones to cut like obsidian, and still… Whenever you try to smooth me over, A piece of me might get less jagged but the rest of me is probably crumbling. I don’t want to be polished. My movement is raw. I like my temper. I like that I could erupt, crack open, and your peace of mind could be melted by my fire. You can't polish that. You can't buff that out. Within me there is a burning; all of my cells are molten and minerals. I am Earth but I am also Milky Way. You are trying to douse me but I am not flames. I am lava. I don’t cease to exist just because you pour water on me. You want to hose down my fire and put it out. You want to cool me off, and make me into smoulder. You, who thinks plastic is an element, seek to silence my simmer to a stillness, not knowing that with water I make rock. With water I make mountains. With time I form clouds, I form rivers, I form valleys. I am not scared of time. I am not scared of darkness or Night. I am afraid of going quiet just because you told me to. - @jelli-w, 2015
theartofmadeline
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