out the window

For those who haven't experienced a room like the one described below, I give thanks to God for that. This poem may feel confusing, unfamiliar, and disconnected. That's okay! Perhaps this poem can increase your awareness or empathy toward someone you know that might be stuck in a room like this. It is not your responsibility to diagnose, fix, or take on the heavy emotions and pain of another. What you can do, however, is offer to listen. When you listen, you can understand. When you understand, you can empathize. In your empathy, you can offer your presence. That is enough.

For those of you currently in a room like the one described below, I see you. I've been there. I've also marched my way through it, and then found myself back in the room months or years later. There is hope out the window and I promise that you will even feel the warmth of that hope cut through the darkness right where you are in that room.

Take a step, and if you end up stumbling backwards, you have tomorrow to try again. His mercies are new every morning, and He will sustain you with each breath you courageously inhale.

Enjoy my poem, out the window, below.

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out the window

Deafening quiet falls like soot in this room.

Self-deprecating thoughts scream,

ricocheting off wall decor that doesn’t exist.

Each chair holds imprints of past warmth—

now obscure pedestals for plants I meant to

save from spoiled shrivel.

A new sound breaks through: the crunch of

petals beneath sock-covered feet.         

Once deeply verdant, now jagged without jade—

a humble reminder of my failure.

With each step across the room,

fear and courage tug at my shirt like

uncontrollable children.

A small window,                                           

a tease to anyone in this horrid place,

invades the space with a strange,

yet hopeful glow.

The precision of its cut through the murky

atmosphere demands my attention.

A few 

more

 steps

 to go.

Floorboards warp, grabbing at my ankles as

shaky knees carry cinderblock feet through

this warzone of one.

But the window— it pulls me.

Resisting,

I glance back and paint every square inch

of this tenebrous room.

Comfort.

Stumbling backwards, the glow fades.         

I’ll try again tomorrow.