It’s sunny outside.
I’m on the inside, looking out. What do I see?
Children playing, people doing yard work, sitting in lawn chairs enjoying the Sunday paper, cats chasing squirrels, dogs chasing cats, a father playing catch ball with his son, a mother pushing her toddler in a swing hanging from the big oak tree, Grandma and Grandpa sitting on the porch sipping tea watching the children play.
Why am I on the inside? I cannot enjoy the things I am watching from my window. The pain is too great.
It’s dark outside.
I’m on the inside, looking out. What do I see?
Grandma and Grandpa’s door tightly locked, window shades drawn;
The people nextdoor sit down together for dinner where there is laughter,
The teenagers sit out in the car listening to music, talking with their friends,
A husband gets home late from work where a child runs out to greet him,
The cat and dog asleep on the porch.
What’s that? Who are they? I see someone down the street praying with a couple in their front lawn. What are they praying about? Who are they praying for?
It’s a new morning.
I’m on the inside, looking out. What do I hear?
A calling of my name, a name I have grown to hate
I want to go outside but am embarrassed for someone to see me, to see the bruises, to see my clothes that aren’t nice; that are too big for me, that cover my bones.
Why can’t my life be like those outside? Those nextdoor? Where is my mom? Why does my dad hate me so much? Why does my brother hit me so much? What have I done to deserve this life? Is there no peace for me?
Were those neighbors praying for me?
Shh! Quiet, who is that at the door? Who is that man and woman holding a Bible in their hand, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand?
