noticing the unnoticed.

She is eight, secure, noticed..
but unnoticed.
in ways that her parents didn't warn her.
in ways her heart didn't shield her from.

She is twelve, insecure, unnoticed..
but noticed.
in ways that lock herself in a bedroom
in ways that drive her to find shadows.

she is sixteen, more secure, more noticed..
but unnoticed.
in ways that claw at desperation
in ways that drive her to find any light.

She is twenty, secure, noticed..
but unnoticed
in ways that make her second glance a mirror
in ways that cripple a fleeting confidence.


The twenty-year-old wakes everyday wishing the eight-year-old would come visit her. She'd hold that small hand and love her for her.
The little girl would then latch onto the twelve-year-old and tell her it's okay to be different. Actually, it is beautiful to be different.
The twelve-year-old would call to miss sweet sixteen and tell her to slow down. To be content with life as it is, in the moment.
Then the eight-year-old would go back to the woman who summoned her in the first place. She'd whisper in her ear that life is simple. There is goodness out there. Insecurities were meant to be confronted, not buried.



She is twenty-one, sometimes secure, always noticed.
in a way that Jesus can only make a woman shine.
in a way that her past can be revealed and healed.
in a way that truth can appear...