The Glass Box (a poem)

I am the girl in the glass box.

Four walls and a ceiling prevent me from connecting

Yet allow me to see out.

Merciful, yet cruel, the transparency.

I see blue skies overhead.

And feel the ground beneath my feet.

Happy, healthy people pass by.

Going about their day.

Their lives.

Their big. Free. Lives.

Having adventures.

Enjoying simple pleasures.

Like eating.

Dancing.

Holding hands.

Changing the world with their presence.

They exist in community.

They work and go to school.

Learning. Growing. Impacting.

I see it all.

I hear it all.

But the walls all around hold me inside.

I am a captive inside the box.

The box of sickness that seems indestructible.

Decades long.

My mind still sharp.

My vision and perception as well.

I see and hear and feel and taste but I can not touch.

Only the cold smooth glass under my palms.

Against my cheek.

My forehead as I gaze through it.

Longing for release.

I want to call out to those on the outside, “Don’t you SEE me?!”

But they are too preoccupied with their freedom.

Oblivious.

They take their lives for granted.

I cry out to God to shatter my box.

Smash it to pieces.

Cut me in the process if need be.

Just set me free!