Every day, someone looks at me
With conditioned eyes
Making wild guess judgments
About the length of my hair,
The color of my skin
The maker of my shoes
Never knowing what is real
Or who I really am
Once, someone looked at me
Through a compassionate heart
And all that was invisible
Was revealed in the light of it
Pain, fear, love, hope
Fresh wounds and old scars
Longing and aspiration
And my own heart smiled
Under that gentle gaze
In the clarity of both seeing
And being truly seen
Author: Christy Sharshel
Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: Zak Cannon/Flickr
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