I stand before the looking glass,
An imperfect mirror,
Mirroring nothing of who I really am,
I see nothing but the guise of skin,
Doctored with human hands,
Frantically and frenetically,
Fixing perceived physical imperfections,
To suit a societal mores,
That tells me nothing about me,
Shows me nothing about the real me,
Who am I?
Who am I?
Then I stand before the mirror of the WORD of God,
O my ghosh!
I can barely look,
Confronted with a reality of me I never met,
I never knew me,
I have really never met me,
The real me,
The condition of my heart,
The wretchedness of my life,
The fractures and dislocations of my mind,
The filth and the stench,
Self righteousness now cowers before the truth,
A once delusive mighty me dwarfed before the King of Kings,
Now that I know me,
And my sick estate,
I let the master Physician,
Doctor me as He wills,
I let Him undo me,
I let Him break me,
I let Him melt me,
Re-mold me,
Equip me,
Fill me,
...And use me as He wills,
Oh it hurts but I can't stand the demons in me,
I want a better me,
Now that I know me,
Boasting is fatally poisoned by truth,
I know and I know and I know,
That I am nothing without Him.
Brussels © March 2015 afesehngwaHilary
