When will you understand
the concept of my being here?
That I am here,
ready to interpret
your random glances
into dying for help.
That I am here
if you need someone
to lace up your shoes,
to dry away your tear-laden tissues,
and to save you from all the rules.
I am here. Notice me.
Walk upon the shelf
where I sit nearby and see me.
See that I am here
–looking past the people, promise,
and warmth just to snuggle my sight
unto its righteous home- that is you.

Still I ask, when will you understand
the concept of my being here?