Somewhere else exists a better version of me; a well composed lady with concrete blocks for feet. During the sweltering heat, burrowing hail, and torrential rain she continues to stand unmoving. Her eyes are wide as her eyelashes work to shield away the elements, and she flinches not even for a second. As the people of the world throw their ropes and arrows, shoot bullets, and throw rocks her sturdy legs lock her bruised body into place like a statue of not greatness, but humility. She is aware of her faltering foundation, however determined to hold steadfast to self-preservation. Undignified she remains humble yet allows the hardening of her heart for protection against her emotional fuel. Her current and constant fuel is reason.
The muscle in her arms are laced with self control and cautionary doubt. This strength allows for loading burdens and situational packages on the neatly organized shelves of her brain. While her feet are concrete blocks, her legs are brick and mortar of perseverance. The small bones in her hands maintain closed fists bound by a wire of tolerance. Her unblinking eyes are great worldly receptors, seeing past face-value everything. She wills herself to be the woman of God she was intended. She is constant, and she is aware.
The world around her is crumbling, the cities are burning. The towers are falling while the wind is picking up strength. As the sun nears the earths atmosphere she refuses to blink again. Earth's people are tugging harder at the rope begging for her to fall. While they increase their fires of blame, she receives peace and maintains. Yet again, she is constant.
She is who I want to be. She is the better version of me.
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