MST

I believed the tales and the lies that were sown,

When I glimpsed my reflection, I greeted it with disdain,

Fearing the world's scorn, I sought to feign.

But the reflection echoed as a centipede's despair,

Its voice filled with curses, and a venomous glare,

Those lies I accepted, they wounded deep,

The hatred I felt, in my soul, had seeped.

But in the depths of my ocean, a voice so small,

Whispered of perfection, not by my will but of His call,

He taught me the difference, between the centipede and me,

For I am a caterpillar, waiting to be free.

Hidden away in a cocoon of His embrace,

Shielded from the world, I was in a sacred place,

Transformation-induced, for me to soar and glide,

A breathtaking creation, which will be admired far and wide.

No longer a centipede's victim of despair,

But a butterfly, graceful in pure air,

The Potter's hands shape me anew,

From a broken mirror and tainted clay, glory to glory I become new every day.

In His presence, I lack naught,

A vessel of beauty, by His love I'm caught,

For now, I'm on a caterpillar's journey, to a divine embrace,

In the Potter's hands, I find my rightful place.

2 Corinthians 3:18 + 5:17