Pearlescent beauty but your world is bound in a shell.
A protective husk keeps you safe from all offense.
Ornate in its intricacies, its gleam is enough that you fool all you meet without recompense.
You fear the jewel inside will blemish and tarnish, growing dull. You know nothing of the brilliance resilience can render.
Sheltered, you've no sense of the waves and currents challenging your existence.
I'd love to see you shucked.
Plucked from your hull and hurled into open water, saying farewell to your safety
and see how well you fare as a seafarer.
I wish I could see fairer ways to show you there are days ahead that will free you.
We just don't have the time.
The world is your birthright and you're losing your inheritance.
Your eyes may falter, your untrained muscles will scream in revolt.
But then you will see farther and strain your muscles as you scream
There are things broken in this world that need mending.
Your hands will bleed from the work but they will callous.
You will still be beautiful.
Before, you merely existed. You were stifled by your comfort. It coiled around you, enveloping you, and constricting until you were made to suffocate.
You learned to find life in the face of death in the darkness you wandered.
Now you've found worth in the battle for every breath, never again will one be squandered.
You will learn the weight of your words.
Your mouth, once just another feature adorning the visage of a pretty face, now a vessel bearing the most precious cargo, navigating oceans of thought and traversing the murky channels of human interaction.
You are ever more beautiful.
Hold no lust for that husk. It couldn't even hold you now.
Your dreams alone will be so big you'll make bedrooms of stadiums.
So lofty they'll ride on the tongues of conversing angels.
The clasp that selfishly kept you out of life's grasp held you under a watchful eye — the sole beholder of your beauty.
Now we stare. We wish to behold and to be held in your gaze.
Your beauty is in the shine of our eyes.
No more reservations in hopes of self-preservation.
You already died once when you shook off that guard, though there was no loss of life with the passing.
No rose to be found in the rows of flowers at your feet. Instead you chose to be in carnations — symbols of your reincarnation.
No matter your instance always make the most of your instants, in any and all regards
You will always be beautiful.