My Kind of Woman

 - 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.