A Thousand Hallelujahs

When our fathers don’t make us feel like daughters,
& when our mornings feel like night.

When our homes feel like prison,
& when our prisons have become home.

When our forever dreams feel like never dreams,
& when our bones feel paralyzed in their ache to run.

When he swallowed that pill he said he abandoned,
& when he kissed her lips that were not your own.

When our tears feel like refuge—comfort we are alive,
& when our empty bank accounts empty us of all hope.

When our husbands turn cold at the moment we are dying for their warmth,
& when our wives are too busy to play with our hair.

When we let our scars become our children’s,
& when our own breath feels uncatchable.

I pray a thousand hallelujahs crash over us,
Bleaching our crimson pains into dancing-white joy.

& maybe,
just maybe,
this freedom we are chasing is waiting in our own back pockets.
Sewn shut by the work & wounds of fragile hearts just like our own,
Who stitched us up to look like them.

Maybe then,
We will turn to the One who never wounds,
The One who only bandages,
& gently undos our sewn-shut pockets holding our liberation.