Twenty Somethings

I have been on my knees

as long as I can remember.

There has never been anything 

other than this feeling.

is this what it means to be a person?

to grow up begging to be loved back,

to fall from grace so many times

that my flesh is permanently cut open

to spill blood like a love letter

 on the alter of the past?

I will always be stuck here,

in a purgatory made of pretending 

that I care,

praying for forgiveness

from those who have long forgotten

my name-

screaming at an empty sky,

repenting for the sin of bitter anger

that is so strong

I no longer let myself believe.