tear open my skin.
break every rib,
and you will find something
like a heart. it tried to be
a holy thing,
to exist
unscathed by worldly temptations.
to be pure
is to ache until your
armor cracks beneath
the weight of poisoned promises,
and to be saved is more than
empty prayers and piety.
but to breathe
is to claw your way out
through the dirt until
you hear love knocking
at your door.
i was not born
to be buried alive.