the lights are low. the hymns are a hum i can't quite catch. my hands are clean but my knuckles are white from gripping this pew like a piece of a wreck. i know all the words. a christian camp kid with a heart full of rust. i mouth ‘amen’ and it tastes like a lie, a borrowed coat, two sizes too big. i can talk of election and perseverance and feel like a ghost in the room, a photograph of a believer. and you call me son you call me chosen but the echo in this ribcage just screams 'imposter'. and my righteousness is a filthy rag i keep trying to wash in the sink. i see the saints with their easy smiles and their uncomplicated praise. their faith is a fortress, mine is a screen door in a hurricane, hinges screaming, wood splintering. i can trace the lines of the covenant on a napkin at a coffee shop and still feel outside of it all, looking through the glass. and you call me son you call me chosen but the echo in this ribcage just screams 'imposter'. so don't let me go. i'm begging you, don't let me slip. i know the promise, i’ve underlined the page that no one can snatch them from your hand, the ones the father gives you, you will not lose a single one. but my own grip is so weak, my faith a frayed thread. what if i’m the one who lets go? so you hold on. you be the muscle, you be the sinew. keep me in your hand when my own hand fails. just keep me. a car crash of a prayer. a hollow hallelujah. and my righteousness is a filthy rag i keep trying to wash in the sink. i keep trying to wash it. the stain just spreads. so i'm here. in the back row. an actor who forgot their lines and is finally just whispering my real name. a wretch. keep me in your hand when my own hand fails. and maybe that's the only password i need.
