After singing "Come, Now is the Time to Worship" a few too many times one sunday, I sat down during worship and wrote this.

Forward
“Come,” he says,
But I cannot,
Until he removes this self-pity

“Come,” he repeats,
But I am planted
In my self-hate

Still he says, “Come,”
But I cannot believe
That he will accept me.

He whispers, “Come,”
And I weary of the struggle.
I hate the battle.

“Come,”
And I can no longer stand.
My knees buckle.

I fall forward.
And I cry,
“Come.”