We are all monoliths
And our minds are made up

Of so many different stones
Alongside our own

In the past
Some have demanded glass display cases

I care less nowadays
For those in glass display cases, cannot catch stones

Belonging
Is a big question

Confusion searches the shoreline
With chapped hands

For an honest opinion
The running water can always take back

Becoming someone else’s treasure
My pockets are all stretched out, from other peoples pain

I have skimmed some out
But some will always swim back to me

I am unsure what I own anymore
Anyway, I now know

My hands can slip into them
More easily

I wonder now they’ve left
What will grow, in the space I’ve made?