They’re a different cut than you and I.

Their cashmere dress shows,

while ours shine like rusted armour,

forged from a single ore,

No hands graced us,

After a strike of lightning rocked us from our stone nest,

hurled us down a mountain and moulded us through chaos.

Search their masterful stitching, and you will find mistakes.

Look at your dented chest plate, and you will find nothing but the  nature of life.

That nature of yourself.

The broken down kinks, a reminder of the boulders that have graced you,

The lessons you forgot, and the ones you can’t.

Fragile and beautiful are they,

even their body’s rebellion. Systematic.

Find in yourself what they never had.

It will never leave you.

You should not leave it.

 

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