Im a adopted baby,  My biological mother couldn't keep me. The Adoption Agency named me BABY GIRL CROW, I was adopted and I became Cynthia Rose. My adopted Mother, Helen Louise Hamilton notice i could sing at a very young age, 2-3, and entered me in every talent show she could. And worked very well, until she passed away, 2001. I attended many auditions, and all of them had the same answer, or opinion: "You have the talent, a beautiful voice, BUT NOT the image we are looking for." Always I was a "big boned girl", but as my dad, John Jr. Hamilton, said: "We grow em big in Texas!" Focus, again, on my dad words, I decided to make my come back, and I chose FULL SAIL to relearn the new industry and further my career. Always thinking: ITS NEVER TOO LATE. 

Here is a poeme i would like to share:

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Half (Osvaldo Montenegro).

That the strength of the fear I have

Doesn't stop me from seeing what I aim for

That the death of everything I believe in

Doesn't cover my ears and my mouth

Because half of me is what I scream

But the other half is silence.

That the music I ear from far

Be beautiful despite sadness

That the woman I love will always be beloved

Despite the distance

Because half of me is departure

But the other half is longing.

That the words I speak

Are not heard as prayers nor repeated with fervour

Only respected

Like the only thing that is left for a man sank in feelings

Because half of me is what I hear

But the other half is what I shut up.

That this will of mine of leaving

Be transformed into quiet and peace I deserve

That this tension that eats me inside

Will be rewarded one day

Because half of me is what I think

But the other half is a vulcano.

That the fear of loneliness fades away, and the living with myself becomes bearable at least.

That the mirror reflects a sweet smile in my face

That I remember of seeing in childhood

Because half of me is the remainings of what I used to be

The other half I don't know.

That I'm not just needed for a simple joy

To calm down my spirit

And that your silence talks more and more to me

Because half of me is shelter

But the other half is weariness.

That the art points us an answer

Even if it doesn't know

And that no one tries to twist it

Because there needs to be simplicity to make it bloom

Because half of me is stalls

The other half is song.

That my madness be forgiven

Because half of me is love

And so is the other half.

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Oswaldo Montenegro (Brazilian, singer, songg/wither http://lyricstranslate.com/en/metade-half.html-0)