I was told
in grade school
that diamonds are made of coal,
that
immense
immeasurable pressure alone
would give us
what we want.

What if
my lattice structure
the inner composition of my being
was imperfect?
Would I not collapse
my core rupture
and my remains combust
leaving behind nothing
to remember
my existence?

I heard
that the way these jewels are polished
was to throw them into a vessel
with a thousand little pebbles
to grind the the surfaces smooth.

The layers
eroded away,
do they mean nothing?
Are they inconsequential?
A burden
to our respective existence?

I believed
that I was someone special,
hidden gem in the rough
all I have to do is trust
that I can be anything.

Now I know
that I may not be
out of the ordinary.
That I can not be anything
I want to be.
I can dream
I can achieve
I can discover
I can live,
but of all the things in the world
I cannot be
a diamond.