They say,

_Diamonds are beautiful, but they are also strong_

like my mum’s voice through the crack of dawn

when the rent’s too late but, hey, the coffee’s on.

Like the kid on the block with a broken shoe,

but a mind like a blade and dreams held true.

Beauty’s in that gloss, and it’s in the grind

pressure makes hard crystals, not the easy kind.

Cut sharp, cut again,

we’re shaped by the struggle,

polished by pain,

held in hands that learned to never refrain.

You see a shine?

Just tears dancing in light.

That’s nights with no heat, but still burning bright.

We don’t break

we carve paths through the stone,

build thrones from the ruins,

make poems from groans.

So next time they call you “too much,”

“too loud,” “too rough,” —

tell ’em:

I’m a diamond, love.

Beautiful,

and tough…

But definitely not…

in the rough.