They tell me that I am extraordinary,
And my breath has a hint of silver,
That my voice has music to it,
And when I laugh, it’s in harmony,

When I smile, they declare,
I brighten the world,
Brilliant than a billion stars in the sky.
And I can cry,
‘Cause they are not the tears of commoners,
But every drop that touches the ground,
Turns into a pearl.

They tell me that I have a gift,
and the aptitude to be great,
To create things that have never been created before,
Timeless, perpetually penned in the pages of humanity.

But alas,
No one perceives that the gems I put out,
Are the ones I find during my journey to the darkest trenches,
Under the surface of the ocean,
In the deepest corner of the world,
Hundreds of thousands of miles into the water.

That the treasure in me isn’t a gift,
But hot boiling gold, worse than a curse,
That I have no choice but to live like this,
And expressing everything in art
is the only thing that brings me solace
Which, nevertheless, is an expression
Of the hell I have been locked in,
The hell I shall be locked in forever.

– ni