Stuck in the self-doubt of outer beauty,
Questioning motives, usually right:
Hoping she wakens a little less empty
After succumbing to colors of night.

Not all alone, but not all together,
Out of the arms of her arms-length men:
Can she abide to decide upon whether
She can risk all of her soul again?

Prickly pasts, imperfect choices,
Barely believing her brilliant being:
Just now she's daring to heed the voices:
"You're worth the joy and the love you are seeing."

Realizing life is so tangible, transient,
Dwelling in now, aspiring above:
Will she hold fast to eternity present,
Or reach out her hand, let go, let love?

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