I was once told that I am just as beautiful
as the flowera I like to draw so much.
That where flowers had petals of multicolours
I had hair that was just as vibrant.
That just like the wildernes in which thay live
I had plenty in my eyes and untamable hair.
And that in the same way a rose can hurt
I can just as well show my thorns that I hide so well.
But that I would never let others see it until
I decided to finally bloom and look at the sun
like the rest of my sisters instead of waiting
for the night to peak my eyes
and take in the world that sorounds me.
I remember not being able to speak for a minute,
to be lost for words when trying to explain
my reason for searching the light of the moon instead of the sun.
When it finally hit me I just turned and said:
Maybe is my sisters who need to change,
for they compeat for atention in a fleeting light,
that they will never understand how the moon
shines just as bright and that those
that can apreciate her beauty
can love mine just as much.
