Strong In my Ego Weak in My Hands

“Strong in My Ego, Weak in My Hands”

I said I wanted You,

but I wanted me more.

Said “all for Heaven,”

counted receipts on the floor.

I talked about love,

while stepping on friends,

Called it “discernment,”

hid knives in the ends.

I read all the books,

quoted line after line,

But my heart stayed closed,

said “later,” not “mine.”

I wanted bestowal

as an upgrade, a perk,

A ribbon on ego,

not death to my work.

Then You broke my legs

right under my pride,

Let Pharaoh laugh

while I swallowed the lie.

I pushed.

I prayed.

I worked till I bled.

And somehow I sank

even deeper instead.

Every good deed

reeked of reward,

Every prayer

had me at the core.

Friends looked like mirrors

I couldn’t stand,

Each one exposing

the rot in my hand.

That’s when I learned

what “weak” really means—

Not tired muscles,

but shattered routines.

Weak is when love

is no longer a choice,

When without You

there is no inner voice.

Weak is when life

feels colder than death,

When Kedusha won’t enter

the lungs of your breath.

And strong—

Strong was my ego,

my logic, my plan,

Strong was my mouth

saying “I understand.”

So You did the miracle

no hero survives:

You handed my strength

to the weak in my life.

You let the few cries

break the many excuses,

Let purity win

where knowledge abuses.

You showed me my sin

with surgical care,

Not to crush me—

to prove You were there.

Now I don’t ask for luxury,

titles, or light—

Just don’t let me live

without You in sight.

If bestowal doesn’t come

I am already dead,

So take this heart,

break it—

and make it instead.