Hardened Clarity
Danny Fantom
In the hands of desperation
crystals are transaction pieces
for a mystical barter, between
our spirits and Our Gods/Ancestors/Selves
Rose Quartz to love myself once more,
as I once did long ago in a threadbare memory,
Angelite to pretend I was pure, untainted,
by smog and existential despair,
Volcanic Rock to protect myself from the
demons I flirt with in inexorable pitch black
I collect them like credit, at first pleading, earnest
ceremonies and rituals, devoted
to their secrets, their powers, their cures
Then patient, grim, anxious, I demand from them
things I have no true ability to give, nor did they,
the sum of all my hopes, delusions, crashing
into the shining, popular illusion of comfort
Shattered, I lock them away, the sensation of
nostalgia bundled in orange silk, patiently waiting,
abundantly forgiving even choked by
shadows and frankincense
I pull them out one day and lay them all out,
arranged by type, shape, richness of memory,
and realize their true power comes from me
