Blind

Can You See Me?

They can’t see me. 

Hidden in plain sight, I walk amongst them. 

They know my smile. 

They know my laugh. 

They know the dimple on my right cheek. 

And yet, they can’t see me. 

I am a mask given life, a charade that fools all. 

They watch me move amongst them. 

They offer their hands. 

Their ears. 

Their hearts. 

And still, they can’t see me. 

I’ve shattered and rebuilt, the cracks seamed with lies that stick to my tongue. 

They can feel the swift touch of cold air that seeps through the spaces unable to be mended. 

They bristle. 

Zip their jackets, don their scarves. 

And again, they can’t see me. 

An enigma, I imagine myself. 

A myth from haunted stories. 

A ghost amongst the living. 

Because they can’t see me. 

I am here, and yet I’m not. 

I am screaming, and yet I’m silent. 

I am begging, and yet I stand tall. 

They can’t see me. 

Can you?