Beautiful strentgh

Some days I don't feel qualified to be called beautiful. There are so many other exquisite works of art that many gain inspiration from. I am no Muse.

I would rather just be that simple breath of fresh air. That wondrous tendril of laughter. The parts people really need. For them to seek the sky where, when there is no cloud of pain.

Too much to hope perhaps.

The eyes darken as the freckled face unwinds. The characteristics that define me, hold onto the fine strands of red. They entertain a ripple throughout my soul.

Cautiously I feel waves of uncertainty drive deep into my thoughts. Daring me to think of negativity. The echoes of of hate to tear me down.

Seemingly, lately, I find myself clinging to the cliff side and so confident of the trials I must endure. Yet the strength I have is not mine. Still I give thanks to the one who gives me my levels of endurance.

Silently the words vibrate within and images continue to ransack my memories. Drifting and yet I am standing tall. Bending in the wind but still flexible. The storm is harsh amongst the willows but the silence is deafening.

A soft whimper into the rain and the eyes close. I gather the breaths as the pain punishes. I hold tight to the hope of remaining me. Unique into the world of wolves.

Cautious but not scared I tread. Yes I am beautiful. In such words. Do you agree?