Our Father, Who Art Not There

I will only ever describe You

As my mother’s god

Because

I have never heard your voice.

I have never felt your light shine upon me. 

I know that You are real.

And I know that You

Are present and powerful.

And I know that I

Am not yours.

I do not know who I belong to. 

I have a voice

Made for praise,

A body

Made for worship,

A soul that is desperate

To do both,

And a mind that

Will allow neither. 

Do you think

The water held back

by the dam cries

as it yearns to be touched

by a softer hand? 

I know that I do. 

I cry. 

I feel held back

restrained,

unable to follow

what feels natural

because I fear that I am wrong. 

I fear that everyone can see. 

But how could I be wrong

If, like she tells me,

that I am made

in Your image? 

Why is it so bad

That I am filled with wrath?

Did you not fill

My grandfather with lust?

Was Lucifer’s pride

Not a matter of Your design? 

My mother prays to You

Because you answer her.

And maybe,

I go unanswered because

I do not know my place. 

Because, of You,

I ask too much. 

To You,

I have been ungrateful,

Insubordinate,

Sinful. 

But if not You,

Then who should I ask?

Who is strong enough to do

what the powerful Lord Almighty

Cannot? 

Who can defend me

And keep me safe

And help me achieve my dreams?

Who will show me

That love is unconditional

And that I am worthy of it?

I don’t know.

And You won’t answer. 

But still

I will lift my voice and sing

And I will bow my head

And on hand and knee

I will pray and I will choose to live

for me.