[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/search/sandpaper/)
Smooth as sandpaper, a strange disguise.
A sensitive harshness under watchful eyes.
Each grain a whisper, each stroke a demand.
Shaping the surface with a steady hand.
It does not flatter or try to placate.
It eliminates doubt, challenges ease.
Friction becomes the language it speaks,
Strength in the situations where comfort appears inadequate.
From a rough start, it polishes and make it clean,
Each mark is a memory, and each line is beautiful.
For sometimes the smoothest, it is, truest things will be,
They are made from the rough that constantly brings.