voice

I lost my voice
trying to squeeze into a pew that was not made for my body or my ideas.
I was pleading,
"Let me in, please. Excuse me, coming through."
But you were singing "Jesus is Coming Soon," and didn't hear. 
Or did you hear? 
Because I swear the next line seemed louder than the first as you watched me try to fit in.
Doom. 
Yet you accuse *me* of bitterness and division? 
As if my voice is only wanted as an alto in "Seek Ye First" and not a solo in "Come Thou Fount." 
Because I am prone to wander
And I do feel it every day
But the only bind you want me to have is not to a God I love, 

but to a fellowship of pews too small and harmonies too hard for this body to fit and voice to carry.