Something always irritates,
stuck like a tiny shard of glass
in the softest part of you.
It is embedded in your flesh,
in your soul, your being.
It never lets you rest,
not really.
All you can do with the shard
is to poke at it and worry it
and feel it and know it
over and over forever.
Over time the shard gets coated
with the slime of the mind
and the smooth nacreous shell of growing.
The shard stays in place,
becomes lustrous and plump,
smooth as a tumbled opal.
thus a wound becomes a gem