Wax

I am a rock covered in wax.
I used to scrape them with my abrasive nature,
And afterward I would sit down and rub on a little wax.
So now when they meet that spot,
It is a pleasant experience.
All my cracks and holes and jagged edges,
Have been filled with smooth, soft wax.
Now, I am completely covered,
And I appear to be a perfect white sphere.
Sometimes I wonder, what happened
To that ugly little rock that was me?
Is it still there?
Waiting for me to melt the wax away?
But I can't, you understand,
Because then they will see that I am not perfect.
And I will scrape them and make them bleed.
And they won't enjoy me anymore.
But really, they aren't enjoying me now.