Zebra-striped opal camouflaging your palm.
If I grasp hard enough, surely it'll work.
It doesn’t.
But one time, you found a quarter outside a Walmart Superstore and now you’ll never
look back.
In fact, you’ve become a collector of sorts.
Yellowing citron and vested interest in all things gemstone.
Growing trials test your faith.

First, a car drives over a puddle and strikes you.
The puddle strikes you, not the car.
That would make for a far more interesting story though.
Still, you blame it on your lack of sapphire, so you
buy a heaping stone the size of your fist.
It’s harder to clutch, so you put it in your coat pocket.
Looks like a smothered beehive.

The next day, you caught fire.
Embers surrounding what should have been protected by a ruby hip pointer.
So, you get a transplant.
Faceplant atop fields of clovers, shrinking them into the dirt.
Emerald stitches nurse the wound in your eyebrow.
Amethyst medallions making turtle-shelled scales across your ribcage.
Topaz daffodils tickle your upper lip.
The devil’s in the details, and garnet shards dye your hair redder.
There’s a better way to luck your way out of this mess you’re in.

Coating your skin in diamond, jade, and alabaster shades;
a dulled peridot.

Deciphering envy like hackneyed socialites.
New world order, my name is Igneous.
Morphed intense movements stemming from a heat inside.
Diabolically rigid deceiver.
You look so aberrant, yet your just another stone smothered in sulfur.
Roll down mountains until someone doesn’t have to climb to claim you.
They never would.
Too many beautiful colors up there to make my heart set on you.
Too many wannabe gemstones gasping for air.

-Kevin Flors

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, this poem is in similar style and theming to my upcoming collection, Jack of Stars. Follow this blog, my Twitter, or my Amazon Author’s page to stay tuned on when it releases this December.