why can't you pick up? (a poem about religious trauma)

why can't you pick up the phone?. you always call everyone else even when your busy but when i try to call and make a appointment i got straight to voice mail. "i'm sorry, i'm not here to answer your call" rings through my ears as i hold my hands in prayer, ready to leave yet another voice mail. tears filled my eyes when i hopelessly closed my phone, hearing the snap of it closing..sitting in the pews, always looking..waiting..hoping for you to come down to earth and tell me that you exist, tell me that i'm supposed to be this way, tell me that i won't go to hell because of how i see the same gender, how i see the opposite gender..i was born not a man but a women, is that what you wanted me to be? if so then why put in a life where people don't support me? are you a sadist god?..can you even hear me as i yell for you at night?..please pick up the phone..please answer the hundreds of emails i've sent you..please be the god i was taught you were.