"Hey Sexy, where ya headed?" She heard his words as soon as she stepped out of the subway station, but they met her ears with no surprise. So often she scurried down streets-turned-catwalks filled with horn blasts and horny men. With every whistle or cloaked request for something more the pain returned for which she held her beauty responsible. Too many times too much notice had turned into unwanted action.
Now after every comment she scanned trash piles for paper bags to cover her head, or she at least vowed to drape a tarp over her body the next time she left the apartment. She was quick to wish away her golden curls, piercing blue eyes along with her comforting smile and attention-grabbing backside. Dwindling were the days she appreciated her beauty; increasing were the times she cursed it never once considering the artist who formed her. She didn´t know her beauty was a reflection of his own essence, the pride of his artwork. And so it remained the object of her disdain.
Her story is tragic, but its greatest tragedy is that its not hers alone, as far too many women claim it as their own. But perhaps their confusion can be illuminated with the light that corrected her misguided thoughts. One day her creator revealed to her his own radiant, awe-inspiring beauty. He helped her to understand his gift to her in being able to display this for others to see.
The result was of course beautiful.
Gone are the days of strutting down concrete runways lined with lustful eyes behind windshields and polluted with men´s unworthy desires. Instead she parades as a piece of art in the exhibit entitled ´Creation´. Like all other masterpieces she invites patrons of this gallery to be captivated by her beauty--a beauty that not only envigorates the eyes, but is also enriched by her mystery. She yearns for onlookers not to see her, but to behold her maker´s Beauty of which she is an incarnation.
you are your Fathers daughter.
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