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.

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