We are as cakes
In a cooking show,
Judged.
So we cover in icing,
A casing
Abasing
Our flair for
Flavor.
We cover the cracks
Of hardship
God sent to help
us rise.
We are judged on beauty,
So we morph
Into something tasteless,
Meaningless.
We serve a slice of ourselves
To the world
Who will listen?
Who will hear the soul?
God is the judge
He is the maker
You follow his recipe
But you are the baker.
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