Hiding In A Closet

I read an article today, biased and angry, about a girl who gave birth in a toilet.

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You know the truth, first, You do. Better than any of us, really. You know what the article doesn't say. What's accurate and what isn't, as always. You sit beside her. Your body is so huge that I bet if she knew, she'd be surprised at the room for her there. She'd scream at the site of you, but then maybe put her feet up on You to bear down. You watch her as she slides up her sweat-shirt, a covering she's been using to hide everything. You look at her eyes and silently call, waiting for her to look at You with pleas.

Instead, she stares at the wall.

Maybe she bites a towel, as the article reports is so. But whatever she does to silence herself, she does out of fear and out of a desire to dismiss the nightmare completely. You won't let her. She knows and she cries and she gives birth to a boy this Christmas. Does she know that You are growling beside her? Does she know that You are crying in that bathroom? Does she know that You exist?

Animals procreate, but people hurt. You know this, and You want to lick the blood away. You know that it would only take a Word from You to still her hands to let the baby live to wake up her parents to make her stop to give her friends to make the emptiness full to make the anger not so hard to make the doors to heaven open to make You her reality forever.

But, she won't let You and You watch with a faithful hum of a freedom offering. It's like an on-going chime that doesn't stop that annoys people when they don't know You with their hearts.

Maybe she doesn't want to listen to the music. Maybe voices crowd You out. The serpent, the one You crushed and will crush and will smear into the underbelly of the world...sometimes she listens to him more.

She kills that baby and hides him in a closet. Now he's Yours. We don't weep for the little one that You have. We weep for the one You want.

Thank You, merciful Beast.