Cognisolitude

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So much of me lives on the inside,
away,
out of sight,
out of sound.
I worry
I’m something
inanimate to the world
that circles around.
A rock, perhaps?
Hard
Strong
Unbreakable
Unphaseable
Possessable.
Passed from hand to hand,
named,
claimed,
tamed.
Set where I’m useful,
lifted only when I’m needed.
No one asks what the pressure does,
how even stone
learns the language of fracture.
Gone hollow from the inside,
But filled with beauty.
You ask for my identity?
You'll never know
Until you peek inside.
So maybe I'm
A geode, perhaps?
But when you look inside
You see
A world unknown to all
Except me.