An urge
to fall on my face in the embers
scoop them up in my palms to give me scars that I'd remember
To Pray
God would take his very fingertips
rip open my chest
and throw my heart at the nearest star
because that kind of surrender
that kind of sacrifice
is much too far
when all I can think about is how far
I've fallen,
from what I thought He wanted me to be.
Consume me with warranted zealotry.
I am tired of praying But not feeling.
I am tired of doing and not being.
Release me from all I can't break free from.