old wounds

To heal the wounds, we must be willing to look at them...and some of mine are straight up ugly.
---
my femininity and my childhood church
©10-29-18 hannah mclean

these big brown eyes
never changed size
whether they rested beneath my mama’s watchful gaze
or peered out from behind my papa’s leg
or wondered at the sights around me as i grew
or studied the floor in awkward discomfort
as i stumbled through ages and stages
or steeled themselves against the bombarding words
that sought control of what lay behind them.

it was these same big brown eyes
in my changing face throughout the years
you had to look into
as you declared to me
again and again and again
who i was
what i was worth
where i belonged
why i existed.

“sinful girl,”
you yelled into my innocent face
“you are the cause of all men’s sin;
and you must accept
these accusations and assaults against you
because to object is to admit your guilty conscience.”

“vile female,”
you slurred at my growing frame
“your place is one of servitude
because that is all you can be trusted with.”

“wayward woman,”
you proclaimed to my developing mind
“your voice, thoughts and feelings
will always be less than any man’s
because even if he is utterly wicked,
he still has more value than you
and the right to rule over you.”

“your
identity
is
sinner.”

“unfortunate one,”
you spoke with authority over me
“you are clothed in disgrace
because that is the only thing fitting
for the likes of your gender
until a man chooses to marry you
and raise your worth through bearing children.”

“fear me”
you said in Jesus’ name
“because whatever judgments men render true of you
based on your attire
or your obedience to them
will determine your eternal resting place.”

and had not the Lord
washed these big brown eyes with grace

i would still believe you