Where are our feet?
When you realize you get so damn confused all the time because you hear voices others don’t. Some of us speak so quietly you have to actually train your ears to single out our voices. There are many of us who are heard and then cast aside the moment a louder, more commanding (whiter, male) voice enters. Sometimes our voices aren’t audible at all. We communicate in so many ways. A lot of our voices are drowned out by the systems that torture us. Our screams for help are waved away as the wailing of the damned. Some voices are imperceptible because others of us are standing on our faces. The muffled cries with gags in our mouths and hands clamped on our throats. I assumed we all heard each other. We do not. Most of us only hear what someone else has curated for us. What we want to hear. The vast majority of us do not understand this. This ass is making deliberate choices to listen to the ones that the rest of us were taught to ignore. “The least of these.” To lift those voices. To look down and understand where my feet have been and are going. To listen even deeper. Who are we listening to? Where are our feet? Do we even notice? Image: White background. Handwritten text, “Who do you hear?” Artist: Alisa May