This pigeon hole they put me in
is suffocating me,
too crowded to extend my wings
I’m dying to be free.
They measured it too quickly
and then they walked away,
assuming it would fit me
they tried to make me stay.
The strange thing about pigeon holes
is that they have no restraint-
no door, no lock to hold you in,
just a pseudo-kind of safe.
They offer a false comfort,
tempting you to nest,
they shrink your view, and atrophy
the muscles that work best.
But once you see the opening
you plot out your escape,
and it feels terrifying at first
you have to be so brave.
And then you start to fly-
your whole perspective changes,
you can’t unlearn what you now know
as you soar to higher ranges.
The pigeon hole becomes a dot
from way up in the clouds,
and they don’t even know I left
but that doesn’t matter now.
Sara Christiansen lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children. She writes poems, music, and prose and is an avid collector of hope. Her favorite writing themes are healing, wholeness, and self-worth.