Poetry

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Who am I?



Who am I? Who am I?

The little voice in me seems to cry

I want to be free, I want to be me.

But who am I?



When I was little girl I was told

Little girls were made of sugar and spice

and everything nice

But I don't feel that way at all.



I have other feelings, like

anger and spite and self-pity,

and other things that are far from pretty.

I don't even like myself at all.



I need a friend with whom to share,

One who listened to me and care.

Who will cry when I am sad,

and laugh with me when I am glad,

Give me a helping hand when I don't understand who I am.



There are times I feel very distraught; and self-pity,

when allowed, can bring in a crowd of fearsome thought.

I need a friend to call my own

One who will know what I am up or down.



What do I do with those feelings inside

like anger, jealousy, hate, distrust and pride?

And submission I detest.

It's like giving up my best.



While pondering these questions in my mind,

I hear a voice of one so kind,

Let me be your friend, I stand here by your side.

I took all those things on me the day I died.

I loved you before you were born.

You don't need all this scorn.



Oh, Lord, please forgive me --

My eyes were dim with self-pity.

Oh, Jesus I am sorry,

I give you all the glory.



Now I stand before your cross,

I no longer want to be boss.

Cleanse me like you did on that tree at Calvary.

Let all these ugly things fall one by one,

So I can find who I am,

and then I can truly say -- I am free, I am me.



For you have washed my sins away, and I no longer ask

Who am I? Who am I?

For the little voice in me has been set free.

I am the daughter of a King.

He has set me free, and I belong to Him for eternity.



Frances H. Rowell

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