Defect

A piece of paper.

I promise you, that's all it is.

Just as flammable as any other paper you've ever written on.

And yet you place so much value on it.

It's as if you place your entire being solely on that paper.

You expect it to speak on what your future holds.

But it will only ever be a piece of paper.

My soul cannot be displayed in any tangible form.

My dreams, desires, and all of my being will not magically be handed to me in the form of a diploma, medal, trophy, plaque, or any of the sort.

Look around.

Identical products being showcased as effective "members" of society.

I must be the defect of this year's shipment.