What really matters

taken from my journal, one day to become a poem

Who I am, and who I want to be
Such very different things,
Such very different people.

To look at someone and—
See their soul—
Through their eyes
To hear a voice,
And hear
Deep need—or deep love.

Feeling calloused hands--
And being impressed by hard work
Or feeling—the smoothness of a palm,
Understanding, a compassionate
Hug, handshake, or backrub.

To smell dirt and sweat on my neighbor—
And envy their time outside—
Their ability to perform physical labor.

To look at someone and see skin color-
A voice-hear pretentiousness
Calloused-unclean
Softness—laziness
Dirt, grass, outside, laziness, and childish

Through conversation is the real person unearthed.
What matters comes to the surface--\and then—
I realize—
What “matters” doesn’t matter at all.

Religious affiliation, sexuality and nationality are confirmed or come out—
And I realize-
They’re still people.
Still friends.
Friends worth having.

And I think that’s more like Jesus anyway.
I need to start looking at people’s eyes.