Visible

What is it like To cut the hems of jeans, To need the stool, Stand on tiptoes, Yawp loneliness across the crowded streets?

To have enough. To hunger less. Food that satisfies, Clothes that fit And are soft, Loose.

Not to push at walls, Always making room, Making more, Taking more, Taking too much.

Not bending aching bones. Being too much. Too loud. Too feeling. Too impatient. Too.

But I bump up against The ones the world was made for As a locust waiting to swarm In a glass jar of grasshoppers.

What is it like To not be noticed, To choose yellow, To flaunt red paint In a sea of bright colors, To need a star upon my belly, To live unchallenged By conviction?

Instead, my head brushes the roof. Feet hang off the bed. I walk sideways through doors, Pitch my voice low, Dress in beige, And am seen.