Yuck.

Whew.

Step back.

Re-evaluate/re-think properly.

I'm a mess, yes. Mould me and make me, Lord. I don't feel beautiful. In fact, I feel the opposite.

I don't care if I'm pretty or cute or stylish or elegant or smart or funny or whatever else people call me- when all is stripped away, what will you find?

Will I still be mellow and patient and sweet or happy and joyful and good-company?

You call me 'wise' and 'experienced'- whatever that means.

What remains is dirty and awkward and insecure- lacking faith- and greedy and selfish and proud and self-seeking.

What do achievements mean to me? What is money and prestige and power? What is beauty and fun and appearance? What is wisdom and knowledge, at the end of the day? All will fade in time.

I may have been all of these things sometime, but you know what? I can't keep up with all that. I am cracking and snapping under my own mess.

What am I, but for a monster, without love?

Lord, I'm so thirsty for you.
Cleanse me, please from the inside out; all over; make me holy and righteous in your sight.

I'm so disgusted by my own sin, yet I can't help myself.