"Ickyness"
By: Naomi Lea
I know what I am supposed to do.
I know how I should do it too.
But, this mess
in my chest
keeps me from doing my best.
There's a sludge that is clogging me.
I can't budge when I try to break free.
This Ickyness
does arrest
my mind and I feel worthless.
I want to shake this nasty stuff off.
But, then no, I want to stay aloft.
Sure it's gross,
I won't boast
about how nasty I do grow.
New days come and I set my resolve
to be better and erase it all
in my own
strength alone,
like He is not with me; unknown.
I want to lay this Ickyness down;
to throw and trample it on the ground;
to kill it
so legit,
that it dies and the pain will quit.
Why is it so hard for me to stop
and end this madness; just let it drop?
It's easy,
but kills me
because I don't want Him to see.
Like I could keep Him from anything.
Who made the universe and all that sings?
He is God
who has sought
His image in Creation wrought.
His hands made me and all that I am,
but He's not done, no, he has a plan:
hacking down,
shaping round
and cleaning me; making me found.
Soon this Ickyness will let me be:
He will come and set all of me free.
Oh, but first,
I must burst
from pride and only for Him thirst.
Until I let Him in to do work,
I slam the door fast, shut with a jerk;
scared to do
what is true
and make my life His glory prove.
Lord, please help me with this Ickyness.
Without you, everything is a mess.
I submit,
I will quit
covering up my candle lit.
Oh, dear God, I need your help now please.
I'm begging you here, down on my knees.
Without You,
I can do
nothing; everything I lose.
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