Erosion

I used to be a part of the pyramids

they carved me from limestone 

and called it legacy

I shaped history itself.

Now I crumble

on classroom boards

made to last

erased by a cloth.

I look to the pyramids and see them

my grandparents, great-grandparents, my father

stone gods, hieroglyph-carved kings

still permanently etched

into the wall of fame.

I’m not like them

the world didn’t build me up to an

awe-inspiring behemoth.

Rain.

Snow.

It tore me down

year after year.

They think they’re

invincible

one day

they’ll see.

To be small

Not today

Not tomorrow

but when all is said and done

all stone erodes.