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Let them be as grains of sand,
Sparkling clear white in the strong summer sun,
but all the same, generic, one-in-a-million.
I’d rather be a gleaming seashell,
Washed up on shore by the powerful ocean,
From a world alien and unknown.
I’d be unique, alone, different from all those around me,
A stranger in a lonely, burning desert.
Scorned by everyone, forced to live in solitude,
No friends, no joy, only sorrow.
I’d be a diamond among coal,
An outsider, hated for no reason other than being different.
I’d rather be solitary, different, neglected,
a silver seashell sparkling alone in the summer sun.
Than to be a grain of sand, dull, lifeless,
Following others like sheep in a flock,
No free will, no chance to make life my own.
I’d rather never fit in, be an outcast,
Than be one of millions of millions who are all the same,
everything unique about me lost.
I’d stand strong and bright,
Even when other seashells, others who are alone, give in,
And crumple to sand under the mighty crash of the waves.