I have written a picture of me
In ballpoint black and blue
I have typed it in Calibri
And shown the world and you
These are things I will not say
Things I know are true
That I will deny every day

Thou shall not lie, I think
But I am not strong enough to do
I will make confessions in ink
On pages white and new
Reflections clearer than glass
Forgiveness, God, I ask of you
Please hear my silent mass

The shame isn’t mine alone
Or the nakedness I might bare
A better, could silence hone
My weakness makes me share
Though strength lets me hide
I beg, appease the guilt I fear
In no one else can I confide

Excuses are not cared for
But I’m broken as you know
Healed by your blood and more
Not whole, I still must grow
I’m a ways from perfect ten
A writer, waiting for the Word to show
In Jesus’ name, Amen

Irony

I will not write me in rhyme
Or self-centered rhythm
I will not sketch myself with words
Or paint my soul in line
I will not wipe my tears with paper
Or hide my scars in ink
I will not bury my fears in blog
Or type each thought I think
And when you read the words I write
The letters woven the way I weave
You’ll see yourself in place of me
The world the way I see
I am hidden in the stacks-
Of leather-bound manuscripts
And in everyone you read
Will be written more of you