The pastor says we're made for selfless love.
I thought I found my niche with boys and clothes.
In me they saw a goddess, so above
Girls cursed with pudgy waists and pug-like noses.
I savored the attention and remarks
They'd paint in word and song, reminding me
That I'm a candle in a world of dark,
That I'm a jewel, bearer of beauty.
But what of single moments that destroy
A perfect form? Or accidents that mar
A pretty face? I put my hope in boys
To "love" by touch, by kiss, but not so far
As to be reputed as the local whore.
And yet the insecurities I hid
Emotional flaws my mind cannot ignore
Remained long after hugs or makeup did.
When troubles come, will you act like a man?
In age, will you still love like real men can?
Oh no. You only saw perfection— physical.
To cherish me forever? Impossible.
For now, I wait before His mighty throne:
I know the life I live is not my own.
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