The Unrounded Pebble

I am not a rounded pebble
I have not spent eons endlessly
Crashing against others of my kind
I have not broken down
To a smooth unblemished face
I have not journeyed
From the mountaintop to the valley
Under the heavy hand of ice and wind
I have not traveled the riverbeds
Grinding off my sharp edges
Rather I was born of woman
With uneven edges and facets that can cut,
My corners defy the daily pounding that would
Crumble me into the sameness
And smallness of gravel
I stand bent but defiant
Before the managers of image
Challenging and doubting
Unrounded