I try and I try and I try
To be something that I am not
To make beautiful things from my hands
To sound like an angel in a chorus of a thousand voices
To be a goddess among men and make others envy my beauty

Whatever comes from my hands is not what I picture in my mind
It's just a clump of lines and scribbles with no definitions or purpose

My voice does not carry an angelic tone
It's raw and croaky

I am not beautiful to draw jealousy out of girls and men alike
I am not thin and tan
My hair can't hold curls or volume for extended periods of time

What I can offer the word is this:

Pages upon pages of unfinished works that I view as my masterpieces
Words that flow out of my fingertips
Water from a melting snow-capped mountain
A raging river that refuses to flow in one direction

A voice, loud and distinguished
That commands the armies of a thousand thoughts
That brings enemies in with quiet curiosity
Until the foes are turned into friends

An inward beauty to replace what society judges
My smile is not enhanced or altered
It is raw and true
I bring people to happiness
With who I am as a person
Not how I look
You are blind if you can only see the outer portion of life

This is who I am
This is what I can offer to the world
And the world cannot force me to take it back
These are the gifts I was given a long time ago
And they come with no receipts