Ignored
Your anguish drives me to my pen. We've never met, but my lens has captured you in passing on the street, in the supermarket, standing in line at the bank. Your image is stored in the darkroom of my soul. I've shied away from your blank gaze, your turned down head; I've bowed my own head straining to hear your apologetic whispers as you try to explain to human services your very existence. There are days I've tasted your poverty at the check out counter as you empty your cart of cheap hot dogs and mac and cheese to feed your family of five.
jailed in despair
alone and unnoticed
voices struck dumb
Perhaps I've not walked in your shoes. But I have lived enough pieces of your life to recognize that beneath the battering, the bruising, and the clutching to your anonymity, there lurks a hero. A butterfly waiting to unfold; searching for its wings, and someone to simply acknowledge your plight so that you might take flight.
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Author Notes
Thanks to Renate-Bertodi for the art work
When I write from the dark side, it isn't necessarily that I am there, but that i can feel the pain.
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