Once, I was a small girl
               in a private school
               praying to my God . . .
               as I was taught to do.

               Once, I sat on the playground,
               crying over a lost friendship,
               praying to my God . . .
               trying to place blame.

               Once, as a young lady,
               I sifted through clothes and pictures,
               filled with stories and memories,
               praying to my God . . .
               quietly asking&emdash;why he had to take my grandma?

               Once, I wore long sleeves in July,
               trying to hide the bruises that covered my arms,
               praying to my God . . .
               because I was afraid to tell anyone else.

               Today, as I am often considered an adult
               I walked outside and saw the blazing sun,
               the cotton-wood trees, and the magnificent blue sky.
               I thought of my family, my friends, myself . . .
               and I began praying to my God . . . .

               Because I wanted to!

                             - Meagan M. McCrary, SIUC