The Crystal Collector’s Lament
I bought a rock, it cost a ton—
The seller said, “It catches sun!”
“It heals your soul, unblocks your fate,
And balances your dinner plate!”
It sparkles like a disco ball,
It’s shaped a bit like Grandpa’s gall.
She said it came from deepest Peru—
(It smells suspiciously like glue.)
She gave me jade to calm my spleen,
And citrine for my self-esteem.
A smoky quartz to “ground my vibe,”
And something called “celestial bribe.”
Now I’ve got crystals in my socks,
Crystals stuffed in tiny boxes,
Crystals taped beneath my chair,
And one that lives inside my hair.
Do they work? I cannot say—
But I trip on them every day.
Still, I keep on buying more…
Because—well—magic rocks are hard to ignore.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 