Gift Exchange

I wish talent wasn't a gift.

So I could return if I didn't like what I had received, or maybe exchange for a new one.

But every time I stop in my tracks;

For someone gets hurt.

Returning a gift is rude;

It insults someone who wants it.

How hard I try to give it to someone else;

But the guilt on my soul weighs down my feet as I sink into the ground.

I should be doing something with this gift;

But it sits and dusts on my shelf.

My gift was given by forces above;

I wish I could force it back.

The point of life is to do something;

Yet how can I do something I don't enjoy?

I didn't choose this gift;

So why are my standards set in stone?

What if I want to be something else;

And no, it doesn't matter that I don't know what yet.

Gifts are like skipping stones;

What If I don't want to glide above the water?

Why can't I plunge in;

Swim through my choices?

I'm told it would be simply because,

Stones sink.

My taste in gift would never make it through the lake.

But what if the sinking,

Let me see the lake's floor?

It would take me to a place;

Where no other stone will ever go.

So maybe my given gift would be easier;

It would be faster skipping above the water;

But maybe living slowly under the lake;

Is the best gift I could ever give myself.

- Crimson_Sights