 - Bombarded by an unbalance of self-promotion, self-help, self-acceptance and looking for the truth of my own personality; I stumbled upon this question - what kind of woman am I? The complexities of life can gray a definition, and not us all color within the lines. We are what we are and ever searching more. Reality lives through a periscope and not always in front our own eye. And still, nature unearthed a freckled girl with no intent to keep her same. She laughs, and cries, and sings alone, and contemplates this name - Woman. There is a swell deep within, like a Tiesto crescendo - a need to create. And just as azaleas with winter rains, she becomes a well-bloomed artist with a little nourishing. Her path, never straight, flies along like the maple seed, and just as sure - planting greatness when she lands.
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