POEM 90: FLAWED


She may not pride in a thousand strenghts
Nor blow her horn so loud
for all to hear.
She is flawed
made of clay and unrefined steel
a female of definitions
of style
of reason
of smiles
and shades of black.

Humble, she is, strong enough.
She's got a ton of flaws:
Her heart, a mess, yet pure.
Her soul as fine 
as a baby's smile.
She's flawed
yet beautiful in every form.



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