Did you not possess me in the beginning;
before your works of old?
Did you not cover me in my mother’s womb?
You are compassionate and merciful;
You do not cast away your people which you foreknew.
Am I not the workmanship of thine own hands?
Did you not form me in your glory?
Have you not chosen me,
by sanctifying me as I came forth from the womb?
Have you forgotten numbering the very hairs of my head?
Am I no longer your daily delight?
Do your eyes no longer see my substance?
Am I no longer your child?
You once taught me I was blameless
for being the queer woman I grew up to be.
Your Spirit bore witness to mine, assuring me
I was a child of a Heavenly Mother and Father.
But I don’t understand why you let those missionaries find me.
Why did you let me believe them?
How could I have been so blind
to join a church so cruel?
Why are you condoning my suffering?
Why haven’t you stepped in?
Why do you stand to the side as I agonize over
purposefully putting an end to my own existence?
Why have you allowed these men to be called?
Why do they deny me access to you?
Why haven’t you stopped them?
Why do they believe you to be so cruel?
Am I not your daughter?
Am I not deserving of your love?
Why can’t I hear you?
Are you even there?