An Open Book

My life is always an open book;
tho, I’d prefer just to hide;
sometimes, I have a confident look;
but that’s just a smirk opened wide.

I make no pretense at who I may be;
for, I have so little time left to change;
unfortunately, I’m just what you see;
although I may seem a bit strange.

I’m not comfortable in my own skin;
I view many others, as my betters;
speaking of my past; oh where to begin;
I feel suffocated by two undersized sweaters.

In spite of it all, I have many a gift;
ones that the Master has given;
tendered to me; other’s spirits, to lift;
such purpose makes me driven.

These words I write, are not really my own;
they come from a much higher source;
transposed from thoughts, by another home;
ones, I hope, the Master would endorse.

But I am just a man, weak and flawed;
a very fragile and most breakable vessel;
that God might use me; leaves me awed.
a freight train on a broken down trestle.

But the Master chose me for a reason;
one, that’s become easy to see;
He wanted to send messages this season;
ones, you knew were from Him; not me.