My Place at the Table

By Shalea O’Riley

The church pew is uncomfortable in the way that I do not belong here.

I listen to the sermons, the preachers, the Sunday school teachers all telling me I need to

abide.

Close your legs, you don’t want people getting the wrong idea.

Stay silent, let the men speak, dear.

Become an acolyte, get rid of your sins!

The candles are the only thing I relate to in this building as they stay still but flicker as if wanting to escape.

I now sit in the back pew to evade the building pressure.

The years go on, the more uncomfortable I become,

Sitting in the corner, avoiding the commotion.

What would they say if I liked girls?

Should I spend my hard-earned money to earn a place at the table?

Should I trust these people?

They tell me I’m a sinner.

That my opinions and thoughts are unnatural.

But who are they to say?

Who are they to exclude people because they don’t have a grasp on their own lives?

Why am I being punished for knowing who I am?

I leave. Not the God I know and love, but the table I am not allowed to reach.