Ode to the Invisible

To start us off, I don't expect you to see this.

Of course the hope is there, against all odds. I hope that you might.

That someone-- anyone-- might.

But in reality, I don't expect it at all.

I've been trying so long.

I've tried to find an audience, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on.

I've left whispers in the corners of rooms, hoping you'd hear them.

I've tucked confessions onto dusty shelves in case your wandering eye might spy them sitting there.

I've screamed into empty rooms with prayers that you might catch the sound as you passed by outside.

I've stood on bridges and balconies, in the middle of busy sidewalks and intersections.

I've leapt from rooftops and cliff sides, I've fallen like a comet through the atmosphere, burning, streaking through a midnight sky in the desperate hopes of drawing your attention.

I have lain smoldering and caked with ash in ditches and gutters.

Why can't you see me? How can you remain so blissfully unaware?

What am I doing wrong? How do I make myself seen?

How do I breach this terrible invisibility, this wallflower-wilting loneliness?

What is so wrong with me that no one wants to look at me?

It's so hard to try anymore. Every day is harder.

But I try and burn and scream and jump and fall all the same, every day.

Because maybe today you'll see me.

And then I won't feel so invisible.