Before my accident, a few years back.
I was beautiful, Even placed in pageants.
Now I hide my scars on my face.
With makeup, my mask, wore everyday.
I ask God why this happened to me?
I used to be, so happy.
I looked in the mirror, one day at school.
I heard a voice, from the handicap stall.
A woman wheeled out, she had no legs.
Demanded I listened, to every word she said.
Beauty is something, that's from the heart.
Not from exterior appearance, at all.
You see I may not, be able to walk.
But I still stand, proudly and tall.
On judgement day, he will know.
Who's heart was truly, made of gold.
In the end, we are all equal at last.
You don't need makeup, or mask.
Your scars tell a story, about where you have been.
It's your choice, to keep traveling.
God gives battles, to his strongest soldiers.
I'll see you at the victory line, remember what I've told you.
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A little heartfelt story about what being beautiful really means.