Stuck - a poetic reflection of my powerlessness in a high control community.

Background: As I was writing the upcoming Abrahamic study, titled Time to Rewire, it was triggering at times. I wrote this poem after a fitful night's sleep. It poured out of me in the morning. If you have never been part of a high-control cultish community, you might not relate to this outpouring of my heart. Thank you, though, for reading.

Stuck

People want to see Him

But they have no sight.

Stuck between the margins of wrong and right

Focusing on people who follow the rules

As if they are Christ themselves 

And the rest of us are fools.

Shame is a corrector

A way to stay the same

Everybody get in line, stay silent in this game

The rug is getting higher as we stuff all our wrath

As a council of elders chuckle and laugh

Dear Lord, what is this place?

A place where victims must forgive and swallow their pain.

There is no option for healing as their own body is their grave.

The relief of the Word has been turned into thorns.

And there’s no mention of the good news

Aren’t we reborn?

Glances and looks

Raised chins and crooks

No help for the sinner, no way to be whole

Somebody's laundry, raised on a pole.

The display is a warning for those in the gray. 

Step out of line, and that's where you stay.

Cavernous holes smelling like sin

Hot breath on the ears, fire in the ribs

There is no way to avoid the game

No place to run when they rattle their claim

Claims about hurting, marriages, the past.

A shame-based minefield of horror and blast.

Closets and storerooms loaded with sin

Lock them in vaults lest someone breaks in.

Vodka, lies, and pornography

Keep your mouth shut about family.

Never acknowledge our teaching has a cost

Insisting that children carry the cross.

Forgive, dear one, as good Christians should do.

Nobody wants to hear what happened to you.

Even without words, the order is clear

Either move on or get out of here.