The Child That Looked Right Through Me

These thoughts are my chains,

Never bending or breaking,

My mind is my prison,

I have to live here forever,

Constantly under watch and scrutiny,

Always fighting for a breath of air,

The people surrounding me cannot see what I see,

They refuse to see what they think isn’t there,

But I see everything,

I see the colors and shapes, I see the wind,

I see god and his children,

Because I take the time to take everything in,

Process and release, send it back to the windmill,

If I cried out to take her hand, would she even know I was there?

How can one person live for so long without ever living their life?

I press questions and buttons in a cavalier way,

Hoping for the best or the most random thing to say,

She could not be afraid of me if she saw me standing there,

I touched her face, I touched her hand,

But my soul just passed on through,

It’ll take her years to understand,

That what she saw was true