I can see the real me. The risen me. Through it all, I could not kill me and God did not take me. I owe this to the Spirit in me that has kept me alive, even when it was my will to go. Unknown to me, there is a beauty in every tear, every scar, every horrible, hidden memory, every break down and every heartbreak. There is also beauty in my smile, in overcoming pain, every rising of my Spirit, every stroke of my pen, every poem I write and in every happy memory my mind can remember.
Today I’m still standing and I can see all the beauty inside of me. It’s not about make up or fashion but the beauty beaming on the inside.