Proactivity

Love awakens the soul to act. 
All those verbs it uses to affirm and worship You that You don't even need and they've never been enough. Just mere phrases created by white men that it has never met who claim to be smarter than it. How would using another's words to describe a Messiah ever truly do Them justice?
With every promise it has given You it hears an echo saying oh will You now.
Mocking it
Why does it have to convince itself that the day will come?
You know what You deserve.
You know what's wrong.
What is life if it can't 
Experience You first hand
Don't You know what You've done to it?
You have to!
It needs to see You or it will die.
That's not dramatic to it
It fits
It's warranted
When it opens its eyes in the morning and it sees an empty bed. 
It cringes.
How can it possibly be okay?
Love forces it to take off the mask.
It cannot hide anymore Master and sometimes it thinks that's the problem.
It is weak apart from You.
It grows weaker the more reality sets in.
This mutualism is the quintessential art of intimacy
It needs You to use it
just as much You need to use it
It guesses that it just reacts and respond to that hurt differently than You. Its not as composed. Poised. Its a messy manic about needing to only breathe at Your command.
You give its suffering a voice
Your acts of kindness are the epigrams of its heart
The tenderness of Your strategic neglect teaches it of virtue
It can be what it wishes to be and
It is who it is because 
You have loved it
Because You say so
Because You can see it and remember that its creation was a good thing.
And not just another waste of resources.
Now what is it suppose to do?
It was only put here to worship You.
You are decency in the face of insult
The exception to the rule
Asi que lucho!
It fights to get to You. 
It is so uncomfortable now that it knows
You exist
That it didn't make You up in its mind
You're out there in the world somewhere.
It not having You only makes it more crazy than the trauma that it already has.
You call for it in the quiet of the night. 
So it tosses and turns and waits for a command.
It is restless for You. It feels more worthless the higher it puts Your pedestal. It is trying to get closer and it is still not ever close enough.
No me rendire. Eres mi maestro por siempre. 
But it feels like it is missing out.
Every meal is a meal that it should have had with You.
Every shower You take is one that it should have washed You in.
It settles with every breath out of Your atmosphere.
And it is in despair
It is infuriated.
It's disgraceful.
It's an abomination if it has ever known one.
It knows that it must learn how to die in order to learn how to live.
But right when it's time it begs for the universe to spare it
It don't want to die like this.
Not this way.
Why is it that its rebirth has to come from the ashes of Your physical absence?