You Punished Me For My Anger

(click on the link at the end to listen to the musical version)

You punished me for my anger—

Called it sin, called it pride, called it a child’s tantrum

But you never asked why the fire was banked in my chest

Why my hands shook at the dinner table

Why my throat locked when you spoke his name

You saw the smoke, not the kindling

You beat the flame, not the arsonist

And I learned that rage was a language you refused to translate

So I swallowed it, let it calcify

Now every word I say tastes of ash

But you never asked me why I was angry

You just wanted the noise to stop

You punished me for my anger

Yet never asked why I was angry

You punished me for questioning

Yet never listened to my questions

You punished me for my body

Yet never checked your perversion

You called it love—I called it a cage

And you still don’t see the difference

You punished me for my questions—

Called it doubt, called it rebellion, called it the devil’s whisper

But you never heard what I was really asking:

Why does your god need my fear?

Why does your truth crumble when I push?

Why are your answers just walls with no doors?

I brought you my open hands, my hungry mind

You gave me a ruler and a verse

You said “trust” but meant “obey”

And the only sin I committed was thinking out loud

But you never listened to my questions

You just handed me a script and a stone

You punished me for my anger

Yet never asked why I was angry

You punished me for questioning

Yet never listened to my questions

You punished me for my body

Yet never checked your perversion

You called it grace—I called it a leash

And you still don’t see the blood

You punished me for my body—

Called it shame, called it lust, called it the flesh that betrays

But you never looked in the mirror

Never counted your own wandering hands

Never confessed the hunger behind your prayers

You made my skin a battlefield

Then blamed me for the scars

You draped me in modesty

While your eyes undressed every word I spoke

And the only crime was existing in this frame

But you never checked your perversion

You just projected it onto my bones

You built a god in your own image—

A god who demands, a god who withholds

A god who loves the knife but not the child

And you call that holiness

But I call it cowardice in robes

You taught me fear, you taught me silence

You taught me my body was not my own

Now I’m taking it back—every inch, every scar, every scream

And I’m asking the questions you buried

And I’m burning the anger you stole

And I’m naming the perversion you wear like a crown

You punished me for my anger—

But I’m angry, and I won’t apologize

You punished me for questioning—

But I’m questioning, and I won’t be still

You punished me for my body—

But my body is mine, and it’s not your altar

You never asked, you never listened, you never checked

You just punished, punished, punished

And called it righteousness

Now I see:

Your god was always smaller than my pain

Your love was always thinner than my skin

And the only truth I can deliver

Is the one you tried to kill

But it’s still here—

Breathing, burning, asking

Without your permission.

Listen here.

~Christine aka ThreeWillows