Under A Bridge
I live here.
I was brought against my will. Stepped upon and kicked around, I am just a rock. Smooth or jagged, my features don’t matter much. I am a meaningless stone, just a rock.
Picked up and tossed about, across, and throughout. Someone sees me before they step on me. Look at these shades of grey. The rounded edges. This is a perfect rock.
I have a new life, now in a hand, inside a pocket.
Then they put me in a fish tank.
I am still just a rock.