A Familiar Discomfort

multicolored rocks
Image: Olive Paaske

I see you there
Your hands filled with rocks
They’re cutting into your skin
Your body is exhausted from bearing their weight
But still your fingers stretch wide to wrap around them
Holding them so tightly that none should fall

Do you even remember why you picked them up
why you’re holding each one?
Are they still worth their weight
were they ever?

Is the thought of dropping them
of being empty handed
more painful than the constant pressing of their sharp edges?

Would you fight for them, even if someone offered you diamonds?

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