Rooms Too Small for Your Sky

There are gatherings
where your presence registers
like a dropped pin in a hurricane—
there, but swallowed,
a soft sound beneath louder storms.

You speak,
and your syllables drift
like paper boats on concrete,
searching for water that isn’t there,
for eyes that aren’t looking.

You laugh on cue,
fold your brightness into polite corners,
trim your sentences to fit
their small attention spans,
as if your heart were furniture
needing to be pushed against the wall.

But somewhere between
one half-heard sentence and another
something in you pauses—
a stillness like a deep lake
beneath all the ripples.

In that quiet,
you realize you’ve been living
like a constellation
asking permission to be a night-light.

A higher Hand
traces your outline in the dark,
not with apology,
but with recognition—
the way a composer hears full symphonies
inside a single trembling note.

And suddenly,
you’re no longer auditioning
for a place in their narrow room.
You’re a horizon that remembers
it was never meant
to fit inside a window frame.

You don’t storm out;
you simply stop shrinking.
You stand,
gather the fragments of yourself
you left on their indifference,
and step back into a sky
that always knew your name.

Rejection loses its teeth
in that moment—
it’s just a dim hallway
you walked through
to find the door that opens
onto a field of unhurried air,
where your soul can breathe
its full height.

For the One who first imagined you
has never once revised your worth,
and the spaces shaped by His wisdom
will not require you
to apologize
for shining.

If this poem stirred something in your heart, remember that the deepest roots grow from God’s Word itself. “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11). If you’d like simple, practical help in tucking Scripture into memory…

👉 Sign up for the free FAST Crash Course in Bible Memorization: http://fast.st/cc/21419