musings from the wistful writer
You are not a misspelled word.
You are not a secondhand piece of ragged clothing.
You are not the terrible ending to a B-list movie unfolding,
The midnight hour on your darkest night, you are not it.
The crumbled piece of paper thrown in frustration,
The echo of the closed door,
The meaning behind the word “Bitch,” you are not . . . it.
You are blue skies on the clearest of all days
You are voluptuous, rich in every detail- mind body and soul
You are extravagant, you are something to behold
The sweetest tooth on Valentines day
The finest piece of Gold,
The blossoming Cherry Tree in the beginning of Spring,
The mouth watering flavor of your favorite birthday cake.
Look yourself in the mirror,
Tell yourself this:
“God didn’t create me because he was bored.
He created me to bask in Heavenly bliss.
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