prayer.

i was taught at a young age

that we bow our heads when we pray

because God is too holy to look at when we talk to Him. 

to make my pastor mad, 

i would tilt my chin up 

as high as i could, and graze the clouds

with my nose. 

God hears me, no matter how i stand

or sit, or lay, or scream, or cry. 

now, sixteen years later, 

i still tilt my head up 

because i want God to see. 

i want Him to see the anguish, 

the anger, 

the fear. 

i want Him to see the tears

taking a stroll down my cheeks 

as my white-knuckle grip on the pew tightens more. 

i want Him to see the lyrics of the hymns

play hopscotch across my lips 

and land the final note as a smile. 

sure, He could see these things anyways

but it's more fun 

to break a tradition and still be holy. 

i tend to do that a lot, actually. 

someone like me

in the position i succeed in is unlikely. 

tattoos, piercings, 

personality like a bike gang member, 

and yet, sweet soul with a grip on Jesus. 

there's always more than meets the eye,

and i think that God doesn't mind 

if we want to show Him our purest selves in prayer. 

bowing in reverence only works when 

you indicate that you don't have it all together. 

and i think people use bows to hide the shadows 

casted on their faces 

like the mask they've forgotten 

they could untie and take off anytime. 

i lift my face to God when i pray. 

it's because He's the only one 

who matters in the moment. 

so let Him see my goofy faces. 

let Him see the tears. 

let Him hear the anger.