Sometimes I feel overlooked. Sometimes I grieve for others in marginalized spaces who don’t know their intrinsic worth. Sometimes I try madly to see and hear and notice what could get overlooked. I wish no one ever felt like they don’t matter. Sometimes those feelings overwhelm me–and so, I lament.
From the secret whispers of the unheard;
From the hidden places of the overlooked;
From the tarnished treasure of the underestimated…
**********
Who hears the cries of your cherished children? Why do they scream out loud or sob in dark corners unheard?
Who can see their wounds—the scars beneath the skin? Why do the vulnerable get overlooked?
Who looks down to notice what everyone else tramples on? Why are some underestimated?
**********
Like an attentive mother hears the uneven rhythm of a newborn’s breath, you hear the sobs and whispers of your little one’s erratic heart.
Like a curious…
View original post 126 more words
the crazy edamommy 