Vapor to Solid

With outrage, she said, "May the body of the man
                                 who uses his hand
                     to strike a woman
                                 be paralyzed.

                 May the weaklings be broken
                                 by women outspoken
                     by other men of token
                                 and ostracized.
        
                May their blood be fuel
                                 to continue the duel
                     to feed them gruel
                                 and no compromise.

               May mercy overlook them
                                 and vengence overtake them
                      by waves of violence
                                 that brought their insolence."

When she stopped boiling, and only simmered, she said,

              "He will never have power
                                 only power to cower
                        through a deadly shower
                                 and false confidence.

                He may strike and break
                                 and give then take
                       but his honor's at stake
                                 replaced with pestilence."

When she fully cooled, she said,
                "May God guide him
                                forgive him
                       and let him see the truth before him
                                 that a woman must be honored."


When her love settled in, she said,
              
                        "I wish he never left."


                   

To All Liars

You can't even talk the talk.

:P

Please, don't use the peace sign as a fashion accessory.

Beauty

You can stare at something long enough and it will become beautiful.

Because beauty is familiarity.

You are familiar with the focused photos of the models in Vogue. Photography's content celebrates physicality, and therefore forces associations of subjects with real life. When you attend a party, you tap into your memory, flashbacks of images of models, of beauty defined by others, and they transition into the standard, the criteria, the control, and are used to judge friends.

Big lips. Big hips.

Small nose. Small toes.

And the list goes on. It's all irrelevant in not the grander, but another scheme. But to our minds, all synchronized by categorized airbrushed images, it is pure relevance.

Stare at an artistic image of a shattered vase. To see a shattered vase of that same physique in real life would excite you. And you might pay money to buy the otherwise piece of trash.

Same with faces. Bodies. So let's not all mold our opinions into one, because when everyone agrees on one opinion, that opinion becomes unrightfully perceived as fact,  and all those not falling under those standards fall suffering into another warp of logic.

We are all beautiful. Physically.

Won Year

She was on the brink of ultimate corruption. In a swift moment of weakness, in the blink of a heartbeat, she would be destroyed. She inched closer to her end without looking at the target. Her neck twisted with anger, her eyes searching for her unspoken salvation.

She was faced with a dilemma unknown to her library of experience. With unprecedence comes confusion. And with that confusion, she would have made a decision that would have filthified the purest of waters continents away. She would have expunged her soul from the confines of serenity, and delved deep into boiling muck of scum.

She was simultaneously presented with a gift box, the contents of which were unknown, but which was legitimate no matter what the results. She wasn't torn. She was nudged from one direction to another. That cliff all of a sudden grew matter and stretched out to create an infinite plane impossible to drop from. But the thoughts of suicide reemerged and she headed toward the cliff, and the plane disintegrated, moaning in disappointment and pity. She continued to hope for His lead.


Would He send it? Well of course.

The sound of a reason was more like a thunderous bolt of lightning smacking any last thread doubting goodness and edging on to disaster. The sound unveiled truth from its brethren, growth from failure, and chance from certain doom.

She listened. How dare she not. She chose to be chosen.
She freed herself from shackled immunity to truth.

He let her go. He let her see. Gratitude is all she can give.