much to do about nothing

She walks: decent, elegant, different from all the rest. She is that flower that blooms and that one can't keep their eyes off. She is the wind that blows softly through the cracks of the window on a spring night. She stares: blankly and one can't figure out why she does what she does. Maybe she has done too much or way too little, maybe her competition is staring at her right in the face or she might think it is. She is disabled from the lack of courage she witholds in her body. She makes everything and everyone thecause of her future and forgets she is the Creator. She has marked soles from walking to much just to make appointments that have much to do about everyone else but her, she loves and she cares just to be ripped away from it all when everything changes. She knows she shouldn't dwell when there is much to be done and yet that frown appears upon her face unknowingly. She is forever faithful to the roots in which she spurred from and becomes loyal to her new found love. Who is she? She is the one that's crying out for help and understanding because she can't speak what is clearly being shown