If I Can Be Frank

A poem on how I feel about my own sin.

If I can use corse and frank language
But just for a moment
So I can own it
And represent
The Ill-represented masses of men
That need a ministry
That isn't afraid to tell em how it is or isn't
Okay?
We're all a little messed up
Screwed up, beat down, schlups
Who have a lot of excuses
And I am one of them
Trying to protect my lazy bones
But not fighting for my home's
The people I know, whom I have grown
With against and back again
I lie to their faces
While their dying In my face
I may not be lying
But I'm not trying to speak
The truth of these words
It's absurd to think
That I have been given everything
And I withhold this piece of me.
That's selfishness
And I can identify it in me,
In the way of my sin;
And the shape that it takes
In my desires and whims,
The things that I look at on the internet.
I want to offer myself up as a worthy sacrifice
But I am unclean;
And Christ keeps dying to forgive me;
And I keep rubbing it in his face
All like "n***a, I'll take your grace
But I got nothing to uh give in return."

So I just want to tell you;
The porn you look at?
The lies you tell yourself.
You're not okay;
I'm not okay.
And you're needed to get up and out of the crap.
You're meant to be more.