Monday, March 12, 2012


This is not a crime of death or sin.
It's a crime against me. Not against him.
It's a crime of deciding I'm worth less than dirt
Choosing, believing this fake recreation
of something that was meant to be golden.
I'm told, then,
this visage I wear--it's a lie.
it's a lie.
So if I will not honor me,
why should anyone try?
When they do, I play blind,
so wrapped up in my pride
that I think that I should be the one to decide
who I am,
what I'm worth,
and how I should be treated
by myself,
by the world,
and by God.

So this crime against me--it's a crime against him
That I would dare to defy what is truth by deciding
that my view of myself is the worthier image
when his eyes have never been biased--
He calls me a princess,
and yet I deny it.

But the truth is this:
It's not my decision.
I am who I am, and I didn't create that either,
so the blindness will fade and I see the revision:
I am priceless and cherished and worthy of love
and all the inadequacies I can think of are irrelevant
because an opinion that supersedes all of my own
will annihilate all of the false mes I've known.
I'll defend myself, then,
against the arrows and stones,
knowing that I deserve so much better.
It's not what I do, what I say, how I think
that determines my worth--
rather just that His glory is living in me
makes me worthy, beautiful, cherished and free
and I see,
what I've not seen in ages.
as the book of forever rests in his hands
with his words upon words of his glorious plans--
I am who I am, and I'm happy to be,
so I'll dance
the pages.

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