Words

Their garish words  reverberate in my  brain
like lingo spewing out arrogant car speakers  down Elm and Main
which violate chaste  summer days driving by
crumbling sandcastles, stopping  rainbows drizzling down a July sky

A  little girl inside remembers what she heard
prefers sticks and stones to each  insult covered in surgery words
the mirror found between the lines she still holds
not the fairest one,  not even close,  over and over she is told

I whisper a prayer and to the  Heavens I look 
and  just as  a smooth stone skips  easily over  gentlest  brook
my desperate plea  reverberates in my Fathers ears
translating the fluent language spoken by every one of my  tears

He reminds me I am fearfully and wonderfully made
more precious than  the lily of the field or spring’s soft green blade
knowing the number of hairs on my head but much more
having formed me Himself in my mother’s womb even before

He thought to about  the sun, moon or  the  first star
in His image fashioned,  a beauty sticks and stones could never  mar
yet He  made uncomely by whips, thorns and nails
then raised  in love’s purest  beauty,  my King I will forever hail