Blessed is the man who never needs forgiveness,
who makes no mistakes
whom everyone admires,
and who has no apparent weakness.
I want to be this man.
I hide my weakness and curate my image.
Fearful of discovery, my bones waste away within me,
and I am terrified.
Day and night I am reminded that I am not enough,
that if I am known, I will not be loved.
And so I acknowledge nothing.
I smile and pretend to be fine.
I said, “I remember when I used to struggle with that,”
and you looked impressed with my holiness.
Therefore, let the godly never admit their need,
so they may serve as an example for the weak.
Their righteous masks are a hiding place,
preserving them from troubled reputations,
surrounding them with admirers.
They will instruct us in the way we should go,
keeping watch in their malformed mentoring,
lest we reflect poorly on them.
Offering techniques, practices, good ideas,
they teach us to be like them, impressive—
stapled fruit on a barren tree.
Great are the reputations of the godly,
but repentance is for the weak.
Be better, O weak ones, shape up!
Fake it till you make it.