Last Sunday, Jason Meyer from Bethlehem Baptist Church in Minneapolis preached a sermon on hyper-headship and domestic abuse in the church. I think it’s an important topic. I think it’s especially an important topic for churches that have all-male leadership.
So, April’s poem is written from the point of view of a woman in an abusive relationship. It’s a rough, raw poem, that I have been reworking for a long time. I hope it helps the reader to step into another perspective. May we be people who sing new songs with the wounded.
(Dear March, I know I still owe you a poem. But you’ll have to wait. That’s what you get for being gray and dreary and cold. And also for letting it snow again, causing me to lose $20 in a bet.)
Early on I heard you sing:
It’s her fault, her fault, her fault.
Your chorus caught in my head
Like the latest pop song
And I sung with you
It’s my fault, my fault, my fault
You saw me cry and
Caught a tear on your finger
Locking eyes with me as you flicked it to the ground
“Look!” You said.
“Look at all the tears I’ve shed
I kept them all right here”
And I wept again, for your pain this time.
It’s my fault, my fault, my fault.
My prince has become my dragon and
Surrounded by fiery breath
Scorching away my hopes
Setting my dreams on fire.
But it’s my fault, my fault, my fault.
You have laid me bare
And walked around me slowly
Pointing out every blemish:
“You should do something about that”
While you stay hidden beneath your shroud.
Because it’s my fault, my fault, my fault.
I want to learn to sing again
Of new dreams.
Sing with me another song:
It’s not my fault, not my fault, not my fault.