Stifled

I feel like they hear me but they don’t listen.

As if I was placed in a glass bowl turned upside down.

As if it was too much to give me air.

If I breathe too much my oxygen is limited.

So I sit.

And I sit,

and I sit.

And I wait.

I wait for some relief, a crusade of revival I know seldom appears.

They call it keeping me safe, but I don’t feel safe.

I feel pushed down,

I feel over protected.

“You don’t know what’s in the world!”

but I’ll never learn if I can’t see it!

I love my family, but I need to get away.

I need to find out who I am.

I don’t know who I am, or what I like.

I want to go,

I want to be free.

I don’t know if that’s a type of promiscuous act, or maybe just dancing.

I want to learn how to dance.

I want to stop thinking about everyone else and think about myself.

I don’t want to be a missionary, I don’t want to be a preachers daughter,

I don’t want people to look at me underneath someone else’s title.

I want them to see me.