The land is dusted with snow,
A soft powder to hide what is dying underneath.
The earth’s concealer,
A soft powder that melts with the sun and leaves the land sick.

Outside when the earth is white,
We see beauty and a symbol of new beginnings.
Underneath the cover of that glittering blanket,
We know the ugliness that lies beneath.

Unlike the snow,
We can keep our ugliness hidden.
Unlike the snow,
We do not melt and allow ourselves to re-grow into a new kind of beauty.

We’re afraid of that beauty,
Afraid it won’t grow right or that no one will like it.
We’re afraid of not being good enough,
Good enough for those that we wish to keep around.

And sometimes I have to wonder…
Are we?