*This poem includes themes of spiritual despair, emotional trauma, and internalized blame. Reader discretion is advised, especially for those processing religious abuse or cycles of shame.

I stepped toward the altar,

not in holiness—

but in habit.

Performing repentance like a role I forgot I auditioned for,

just to bury what I couldn’t bear to name.

Everything in me was reaction.

To her rage.

To my shame.

To the God I thought might still be watching.

I called it faith.

But it was fear—

a leash I wore like devotion,

afraid to ask if I deserved better.

I held myself up with borrowed prayers,

but underneath,

I was crumbling.

Worshipping my own image

of what a man should be.

It’s strange—

how survival teaches silence.

How arrogance dresses like strength

just to keep the truth from bleeding out.

Even when I begged—

even when I said please—

she made sure I knew:

I deserved it.

The leash.

The bruises.

The blame.

And for a long time,

I believed her.

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Testimony