A Woman

Those who are young in mind

Tend to define a woman
By the size of her breasts
The beauty of her smile
The cinch of her waist
The swell of her hips
But perhaps under her physical mask
With which she was blessed
Hides not a woman
But a child.

A woman is one whose head is held high

Whose feet walk with purpose
Yet with sensuality,
Owning a confidence and respect
For herself and her own
Owning a love that finds herself beautiful
Her features,
Her shape,
Her heart,
But she knows that she is not perfect.
Her eyes are not shaded
To her own faults,
But her intent is to erase them.

A woman is one whose tongue is slow

To utter harsh words against another.
Reluctant to expose trusted secrets,
But quick to offer comforting phrases
With caring eyes
Gentle hands
Quiet murmurs,
Welcoming arms
Wanting to ease another's troubles
Rather than rejoice in their sorrow.

A woman is one whose heart is filled with love

For herself
Her own
And theirs.
Her beauty is brightened by the brilliance of independence
Her smile infectious
Her laugh contagious
Her heart generously offered to others
Only needing love returned

A woman is one who possesses a beautiful body

No matter the shape
Or size.
Her beauty is heightened by her brilliance
And the goodness of her soul
Filled with an inner strength
That has matured
To match the premature development
Of form.
Placing breasts, hips, legs upon a shapely figure
Does not make a child
A woman.
For the body
Is just a woman's accessory.
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