When I was a little girl

I used to see sunbeams

(You know, long rays of light filtering

Down through the clouds)

And I would think that was G-d

Making an appearance,

Saying hello,

Reaching out a hand,

Splayed shining fingers.

Letting me know He’s there,

He sees me.

And I used to think,

Well,

At least someone sees me.

It is surely no coincidence

That in a week where I have felt

So small,

There have been an awful lot of

Sunbeams

Peeking through in my skies.

Big person things were always

Demanded of little me.

Being made to feel small

Makes me want to roar like a lion

Because small is something

I was never allowed to be.

So my soul dislikes that expectation

Thrust upon me.

It rejects it out of hand.

And I spend days recovering,

Trying to figure out what to do,

Reconciling “who I am”

With “supposed to”

All over again.

But I see sunbeams,

And the lion inside me settles a bit,

And I think,

Big or small,

Someone up there sees me.

At least someone sees me.

At least someone sees me.

At least someone sees me.

At least someone sees me.