I skinned my knees from kneeling down to pray and I wonder if it’ll get any easier. Dear, God, please read these letters from a sinner and let me know if I’m worthy. I curse my namesake when I feel anxiousness rise from my rib cage and into my throat. I damn the linage of unwell people who tried too hard without asking for help. I thank you for my parents because they were my only form of grace. Now I count the chips on my dad’s headstone and wonder why it was so fucking expensive. I think of his goodness and wonder if I have a fighting chance at living up to it. The story unfolded so beautifully and tragically but life is just that. I can’t help but ask if trying hard is good enough to get into heaven. If it’s that easy. If I’m that pure. I write notes to my past self saying sorry for the harshness and try to make a better future with what I have. I hold my head up delicately in knowing I walk forward and backwards, but at least I’m still walking. At least my bones move with some sense of grace. Even when life brings me to my knees. -AMT ©️