Am I a puppet?
A monkey destined to
sing and dance on a whim?
If I slap on foundation,
pretty pink lipstick,
and fake lashes,
will I be real?
Or if I toss my temple
from person to person,
like a game of hot potato,
will that be enough?
Should I let rugged hands travel
what the good Lord made,
just to earn a penny of affection?
Or allow a trail of kisses 
to worship my body,
only to wake up disheveled,
like used tissue?
Am I supposed to live like this?
A hollow shell of a human being,
a Barbie doll aimlessly
searching for her Ken
to make her complete?
Or am I Your creation,
held in Your embrace,
swaying me back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth
like the child I am meant to be
although the world deems me
unimportant and minuscule
against their selfish, greedy,
consumer-based culture?
They give and take, steal and destroy,
break piece by piece until
I become rubble.
But if I’m worthy
to You, O’ high Creator
that makes all the difference.
I cry out to the skies above,
“Abba, Father!” like the child
who was silenced by years
and decades of broken-hearted
tears and relentless torment.

Editor: Shannon Hensley