In the quiet after the storm, she sits among the remnants of her becoming — a diamond carved by pressure, glinting with every scar she refused to hide.
You found me:
White, powder-soft to the touch,
Pure and pristine.
So young, but with eyes of power—
Haunted,
Holding secrets of old.
Not virginal, but a sanctuary nonetheless.
Aching to be touched.
A perfect, undiscovered haven—
Exotic, wild, and untamed.
You said you wanted to help me,
To make me better.
You liked the way they looked at me,
How they envied what you thought was your property,
Defiling me with their lecherous gazes,
Desecrating my mind with their narcissism,
Repulsing me with their presence.
Through experience’s pressure and heat,
I became a diamond—
Rarer, more beautiful, ethereal.
I let you try me on,
But was aggrieved to see
I was nothing more than a statement piece.
You cut yourself in neglect,
Lamenting my sharp edges.
You demanded I be soft and pliant.
That is not how chemistry works.
And so I sit.
And wait.
Pretty to look at,
Dangerous to hold.
But the right one
Will see me through the rubble,
And delicately sand off the rough.
With caution and respect,
The right one will revere me,
And be the envy of all else.
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