【by Jorge E. Espinoza-Gonzalez】

I still refuse to believe that I’m actually standing next to you.

You’re tall. Quiet. Pale.

You’ve been carefully curated for my enjoyment. And his. And hers.

Originated with the gods,
oh you silent stone.

It’s funny.
On my own, I am strong and resilient,
and what some would call a work of art.
But next to you, I feel nothing but the reminder that
beauty has never been truly mine.

You stand out,
that’s for sure.
You glisten against the sun.
You don’t mind the heat.

You’re always so clean,
but I’ve never seen you cleanse.

Oh
my pretty.

How I long
to be a piece of stone like you.

Grounded, with my feet on the soil.
Looking up, towards the gods and all things immaculate.