One morning in the quiet hours I'd taken a stroll amongst the fields and flowers Where I saw a rock, dark and smooth And had a wonderful idea of what to do. I drew him a face with charcoal And hatched a little plan Where I ran to a parcel station And sent it to a lawman. Hated by most criminals, The lawman's name was Jack. But I thought he was funny-- His snark always made me laugh. The next time he arrested me, He rifled through his pockets with a grin. And handed me my own pet rock Before I went in. He and his wife Didn't approve of my life (Though I'm sure that's no surprise) All the same Despite my shame Despite the blame and war game My life became– They spent their lives hoping And to me, Always left their door open. Months later I yelled at him Scared, angry, and on the lam I'd snarled, boiled, and seethed Over a sequence of telegrams. "You're a little fish in a big pond," he'd said, "You're swimming with sharks." (I took it as a threat, One of his quick remarks.) Didn't he know, These were the waters I'd spent my whole life beneath? I snapped with newfound vigor, "You're not the only one with teeth." I'd been tortured and tormented Used at every turn against my people It had fostered a paranoia and rage To which there was no equal. "It's beautiful under the water's surface but stay too long and you'll drown." "I'm not the same person, Jack. Sorry to let you down." I told myself I couldn't trust him now, couldn't banter or have that bond. ...but can you believe it still hurt, when he didn't respond? I was different now, Angry and despondent Smarter, I thought, I would not be conned and-- Used and fragile and weak and small I couldn't be the way I'd been. I couldn't be anything at all. Everything that made me weak I told him I'd gathered it up, killed, and forgot it. ...But perhaps those were strong words For a girl with a pet rock Still in her back pocket.