I can feel every voice inside of me screaming,
sound waves bouncing against every cell,
clashing with every heartbeat,
and colliding with each aching muscle,
but all I hear is the swish of the ceiling fan’s blades
as they slice this stale air.
I have no voice externally.
You’d think I would be used to this by now,
but I don’t welcome a home
that tries the beat the life out of my joy,
that takes every loving moment I feel
and replaces it with a reminder that I’m unnoticed,
Forgettable.
I want my real home again,
where my walls don’t form massive brick barriers
ready to cave with any gust of wind,
where the fence that surrounds me
won’t shock me when I try to escape.
I want to feel life in my fingertips again
and wake every morning to a day worthy of sunlight.
I want to be seen.
I want to grip every worry,
every fear,
every smile,
every laugh,
every vulnerability
so tightly in my fists
that my fingernails cut holes in my palms
deep enough for me to bleed out all of my insecurities,
and then I want to hold each hand out
toward anyone who claims to care
and release the muscles that are trembling so softly from grip,
so I can release uncertainties that have shaken me so swiftly from flight,
and I want you all to watch as each part of me
presents itself before you as it falls from my grasp,
each part of me that you didn’t know,
each part of me that I thought died,
each part of me that I’ve worked intensely to build,
and each part of me that you look over,
because every move I make
and every piece of my soul
is like a light breeze
in the midst of autumn:
invisible,
lacking importance,
nice to have,
but unnecessary.