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.