Only God Can Judge Me

You brand me with whispers you've never confirmed, A verdict pronounced before truth is discerned. But I am not your canvas to deface— I'm not your sin, nor your saving grace. You echo the lies that shadows create, Feeding the flames of borrowed hate. Yet none of your whispers came from my lips— You're sipping poison from rumor's sips. You were not molded to wear this robe, Nor crowned with truth from a higher globe. Judgment is sacred, not meant for your tongue— A throne misclaimed by the loud and the young. Each syllable you wield cuts colder than steel, Words like daggers that forget how to heal. But as you swing, forgetting grace and plea, Know that wounds don’t chain the soul in me. He sees me clearer than your gaze could stare, Knows every scar, every whispered prayer. You judge my cover, He reads my page— I rise untouched from your crafted cage. So keep your sentence—it returns to sender. I answer to the Maker, not your agenda. And when your pride leads you astray, Grace may find you—if you look His way. Because judgment was never yours to give, It's love and mercy by which we live. Only One above holds that key— And it was never handed to thee.