Beautiful

Beautiful.

The most coveted and most hated word

in all the world...

The word every young girl longs to hear that she is

and the very same word that reduces her to nothing

when she's told it's what she's not...

we are told in word

to love who we are, just the way we are

but told in actions

that we have no reason to do so.

For who among us can be

pretty enough?

thin enough?

tall enough?

or lovely enough?

The standard by which we measure ourselves

changes day by day

and with each new rule

we are chained

to death.

immediate death?

no.

but a slow,

suttle,

death...

For with each layer worn

and each new "me" that we try

the real us,

who we were created to be

dies.

And she's the one the world needs.

yet we scream inside to think

that this

could be true..

For we've been told by many, 

that we will

never

be enough as we are..

For we are not beautiful.

We could be..

if we lost a few here

or gained a few there,

if we train for a marathon,

or wear our hair like this,

put on a little more makeup,

and get down to a size six..

or better yet,

a zero...

Because after all, if we can do these things,

if we can just somehow

catch up in this

neverending chase

then we will be loved.

And that's what it all comes down to isn't it?

this being loved?

And yet, as this pen moves

i realize that this pursuit,

this desire to be loved

is what we hide in our pride

and back away from the most..

For we've been hurt..

by tongues as sharp as swords,

and we've built up walls, no,

fortresses

to assure that we're safe

and

protected,

to assure that it will never happen to us again..

Truth be told,

we're afraid to be loved..

for we fear that what we are,

who we are,

isn't going to be enough.   again..

We've never been thin enough,

never been pretty enough,

never ever been enough.

And who has told us that the most?

that would be us.

We see,

We know

a woman deep inside

who is..

           gentle,

                    lovely,

                             beautiful,

                                           herself,

                                         and simply free..

Wow, is she free..

So why isn't she seen?

Because all these layers keep her hidden,

and that woman has forgotten to breath..

But fear not,

We are not at an end to this poem without hope.

For there is One who holds beauty beyond our wildest dreams,

who holds a key

that will surely set us free...

Who has breathed life once

into a mared piece of clay

and who,

I am sure, can do it once again..

And the more of His life that we breath,

The more we see and know Him as He is,

The more beautiful we shall become..

It will take some forming,

and reworking,

and remolding,

but that beauty,

oh that beauty that He will give

will be more,

much more than a word,

and more than a look,

more than something we have to strive for...

in fact,

we won't be able to strive for it

for it will be a deep rooted identity in the One who is Beauty

and that will flow out from us

and glow like Moses up at Sinai,

for we will be at rest and at peace,

being as He has fashioned..

But something, perhaps the hardest thing for us

must change..

That being our desire for recognition

from the eye of the

fickle beholder of this age,

must die

so that the fulfillment of the recognition

in the eye of the Beholder,

who created us,

can live.

and this,

this,

is Beautiful.