we are told,
matter more than others
Call it privilege
Bias, Prejudice, Politics,
Call it what you like.
But whether it’s a little voice,
Or a big one.
Suffering is suffering.
So much is drowned,
So much, we simply tune out
to hear the familiar drummer
But to place our ears to the ground
For the voices that have yet to be heard
For the soft drops of tears shed in hidden spaces.
Amidst the cacophony of the voices we know,
The voices we’ve been told are more important,
than the ones who are missing.
Could we not listen, just a little further?
A little deeper?
Could we not seek out the words held thick
in the still air of silent neglect?
Could we not seek to hear the voice
we were told never to value
never to love
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