Are you wounded?
There are endless ways that life can mar your heart
I need not read off the written list
For it would wind around the world
Again and again and again
Resembling a paper mache ball

Are you wounded?
Feeling beyond repair?
Oh, I hear you
And I don't know
Your persistent, internal struggles
Nor you truly mine
But I'm writing to testify now
That I'm still here

Though words can often seem empty
I'm proclaiming today: Never give up
When you think you've felt too much
Know that the sun rises every day without fail
And like its beacon of light
A glorious, universal flame
Take heed of its returning presence
And do likewise

For there is always someone else
Who is just as hurting as you
Or even worse
Who needs your light
To shine his or her way  
And banish the suffocating darkness
So share your torch
It just might initiate a spreading trend  

Don't let your pain be in vain

I lit
the wick,
a slow start,
barely a fire...
almost smoldering...
but
just the same,
there's a flame
rising above
a flicker.
And I can see
no doubt
it's gonna shine.

Don't listen to what the culture says about you. Forget about what you see in the magazines. Forget about what you watched on TV. Forget about what you have seen in the movies. Forget about what you hear on the radio or came across on the internet. Forget what you just saw on a billboard or store poster. We are women of worth. It doesn't matter what we look like, how much we weigh, what our bra size is, or how **** we are...we are beloved by God who made us and He loves us without ridiculous, unrealistic demands, the cruel demands to be perfect to the eyes of the world. Outer critics are everywhere, and our inner critic wants to chime in and get aboard. We are women of worth. May we all remember this.

She has fire in her veins,
fire in her hair.
She might light your world afire today.
So beware!

Her autumn reflection,
burning bright,
has much detection
throughout her night.

She has a hurting spirit,
but a proud name.
The fire she did inherit
is in her eyes the flame.

A mist of rain does tend to descend,
threatening her torch with dread,
but in spite of its might and unceasing end,
the fire is never dead.