Habakkuk 1:2
He doesn't answer when I scream
Into the dark, into my pillow,
Into the hollow between breaths
Where prayers rot.
Everyone says He listens.
But maybe He doesn't listen to girls like me.
Maybe I'm the mistake in the plan.
The broken thread. The shadow on the altar.
They told me He loves the brokenhearted,
But He watched when it happened,
He watched, and He did nothing.
I try to go back,
To fold my hands like they taught us in Sunday school,
To whisper His name like it still means something.
But it burns my throat,
Like a lie I never asked to carry.
They say He sees everything.
So He saw me.
He saw what he did—
The way I floated out of my body,
Counting rocks to stay
Anywhere but there.
Did He turn away?
Or was He watching with His holy eye,
Weighing my worth in silence,
And finding me too small to save?
Sometimes I wonder if He hates me.
If I'm the lesson in someone else's sermon.
The warning story for girls
Who don't pray hard enough.
I still wear the cross.
Not because I trust Him.
Because I'm afraid of what He could do
If I take it off.
Or maybe because I'm hoping,
Somehow, He'll notice me again
And feel something.
Anything.
Copyright © Madison Power | Year Posted 2025
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