To sit for an hour
Maybe more
Maybe less
Listening, quietly
Trying so hard
Not to judge
Not to get angry
And lash out
Nodding, maintaining eye contact
Not to show agreement, but rather
To show I will listen
Because you are a person
And people deserve the right to be heard
You present stories
Arguments
That you think
Will best convince me
To believe just like you
And after an hour
Of spewing these out
One after another
Never asking for my thoughts
Never caring to hear my story
Never listening
You have the audacity
To look me in the eyes
And tell me
That you are not trying
To change my mind.
You lie to my face.
Believing, I suppose,
That it makes you seem like
A nicer person
I imagine you will leave this conversation
Proud of yourself
Feeling you have done your duty
Able to share with others
That you have witnessed
to a godless person
I leave the conversation
With no proud stories to tell
Only with the unsettling feeling
Of being unseen
Unheard
And trying to process
Trying to hold on
To a conviction of my own personhood
Without losing my sense
Of the personhood
Of those who fail to acknowledge mine.
This is the tension.
This is my struggle.
Of course it could very well be
That this telling of
The encounter
Has become
My proud story
PrOsETRY Reflections 