Is it the errors I’ve made?
Or the trophies I’ve laid
Upon the shelves in my gaze
It’s all maze; who am I anyway?
Am I your approval of me?
Or the approval I seek?
If so, my future is bleak
Because people are fickle, to say the least
Could I be the things I possess?
Do they measure my potential or greatness?
What about my swag or prowess?
I’ll do my best, in futility
To put on masks, flaunting my possessions
Truth is my identity rests in my confession
That Jesus is risen, as Savior and Lord
I sigh in relief and reap the reward
Obediently looking to the Master to name
the creation whose image is the same
The reason His Son came
If only I knew
My own name-
It’s daughter, beloved,
I’d put down those facades
Then I’d realize I didn’t have to work so hard
To be accepted
I neglected who I was meant to be
Satan looked into my destiny and was consumed with jealousy
So, he tried to take me out by stealing my identity
But what He thought would be the death of me
God covered in blood and called ministry
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