Jasmine Montez @jasminemontez · 29 de dez. de 2025

Stone

Stone, stone, stone me. Until it crashes. God and me, to hold the broken pieces and rebuild that strength— that stone, stone, stone me. Even though shed tears are not only mine, Baby, it's always stone, stone, stone me, refine. I guess it is a gift, for He knew I needed to be exactly how He made me. Stone, who crushes but ain't nobody to see. By Him, rebuilt, but ain't nobody to be In thanks— for they never know what I keep. Stone, stone, stone— Dry, me. “She never cries,” they say. I cry, indeed. Stone, stone, stone me. But yet, when crushed, there's sea. God is good. He is my everything. And in Him alone, Glory! It dies the stone, stone, stone me. His love is too soft. He holds us all. With kindness, heals. Then I can be the weak, the broken, human me. So then be the stone others need me to be. For love I stand— stone, stone, stone me. Maybe that stone can be a diamond, but only by His grace. Maybe not a diamond; I don't mind, as long as I am His vase. Then, Lord, here I am: Use me. The broken. The loved. The imperfect. The human. The stone, stone, stone me.