You don’t see the depth of my joy

You don’t see the woman in me

or her beauty

or how bright my smile is

when I am her.

Finally at home

in my own skin.

You don’t see my potential

beyond the selfish wants you have for me,

the dreams that lay beyond

the cage you keep me in.

You don’t see

my loving, compassionate heart.

You just think I’m foolish.

You don’t see

all the poetry and stories

that live inside me.

You don’t see my spirituality,

only the faith you raised me in

which hurt me

and which continues to

hurt

when I watch  you use it

against others.

You don’t see any future for me

that I want.

And I am not someone

that you would like

if you truly knew me,

no one acceptable

to your god or your president.

You don’t see the pain you cause me,

the ways you oppress me,

all the casual things you do

to harm me.

You don’t see the scars inside of me.

You don’t see

my brightness

or my resilience

or my hope.

You don’t see my infinite worth.

I love the person you don’t see

when you look at me.