I did not arrive here

For the perfect,

The all-the-time pretty,

The stencil cut outs

Forcing me between lines.

I am here

For the dirty,

The raw,

The gritty specks of sand

Stuck between toes.

This, the kind of life

That has me washing

Mud from both face and knees;

For even the lotus knows

True beauty grows

In the depth of darkness,

Before it ever sees the light.

And then she glows.