I am invisible or I am seen
and I cannot decide which is worse.
There is comfort in the way that folks must strain their necks
and rub their eyes to make sure I’m there,
and that maybe I am not there at all.
But living my life as a quiet ghost
a whisper of a presence
amongst the walking and breathing and laughing
leaves me aching deep in bones that do not fit me.
Or if I am seen, then I am something to be touched
and a face to a name
Ah, yes, nice to meet you too,
I’ve heard so much about you.
If I am seen, then I am known
and isn’t that an awful indulgence?