Wednesday, August 20, 2014


Wrapped in shimmering rainbows. Cloaked in promises. Vivid colours, layer upon layer they reach to the ground. I'm opening my eyes again, dwelling on them. Pulling them closer and letting the silken threads rustle as I walk. Because when I forget what I am clothed in. I shuffle and falter and my eyes grow dim and I start to dwell upon what hasn't happened. But when I remember and my fingers grasp the hope spun material that wraps me my heart rises up within me and I stand tall. The warmth of these garments, all encompassing and shining. They are what he has robed me in, a sign of my daughterhood. And they strengthen me, they embolden me. For though others may not see them. I know they are there. And when the hard light of days that are long and tiresome cause me to feel ragged and exposed, I will pull tight around my shoulders the mantle that speaks authority. And I will look in the mirror. And see what he has tailored for me. Because these garments speak to who I am. And they are mine. Sewn from wool as white as snow. Princely blood upon them. Sparkling with love.

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