image from publicdomainpictures.net
poem submitted to "1436-Any 2026 Poem" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, January 1, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Oh, Jesus, I wanted to be like you~ to bleed without flinching, to kneel in the dust and mean it. Instead, I clutch my own crown, not of thorns but of ego and want~ sharp, crooked, never quite fitting. They told me salvation was nails, but my hands are soft, my wrists unbroken. I whisper forgive me to an empty room, and the silence answers: Try harder.
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