Sand
Sometimes I feel like sand. Its not very unique. Very rarely does someone point at the sand and remark its beauty. There is so much sand. There is nothing special about it.
I have always felt like sand. It is so easy to replace me. I can fill whatever cracks, level you out, the foundation someone needs. But its only because I do these things that most people hold me to any value. No one wants sand just to have. No one wants me around just entirely for me alone.
I hate being sand. I hate knowing how expendable I am. Its easy to keep me on a leash to say what you want to hear. Or be whatever I need to be that day. For a moment I feel like something could be different, when someone stops and notices me. Collects me, jars me and takes me with them. Maybe I finally caught their eye. Maybe I am beautiful to this person. But then, I am just sand. Even at best I am a keepsake memory of better times. A reminder of some other beautiful thing. I was just the easiest most insignificant thing to grab. It could have been anything. Anyone.
The only time I feel beautiful. The only time I can be different and know that there is more here. Is when the fires within me burn. The fires of rage. The fires of yearning. All heats up and I can slowly turn to glass. Brightly glowing. The most beautiful I could ever be, but now, no one can hold me. I cannot be touched. When I am finally noticed, when I am finally the attention. Its just from afar. A quick admiration until I feel defeated again and the heat expels from me. Now, I am glass. Fragile. Not easy to carry around. Not easy to just enjoy. I am displayed once more. Admired from afar. They could say I am special but am I really? Next to these other glass and trinkets shows that I am still really just sand.
