Bigger things are easier to see. You might miss a humming bird or bee. You won't miss a condor or eagle. The opposite is true for people.

How can that be? If there's more of me, why am I impossible to see?

Invisibility isn't a cloak or spell. It's your fat pants stretched thin and worn as hell. It's the T-shirt you never thought you'd fit now threadbare and torn in the armpit.

There's just more of you to love, I thought the saying went. Well there I was feeling only torment. Faces fell when I said no, I'm not pregnant.

Does love bloat like this body of mine? Does it get watered down like cheap wine?

My back, my legs, everything hurt. My body just didn't work. If not by plane, by train, or car, I wasn't getting very far.

I longed for someone to scoop me up, to cradle me and gently rock.

I didn't fit in anyone's arms and briefly flirted with self harm.

Twice at work I took to crying. It went unnoticed without my trying.

The wrong solution looked too friendly and as of late, far too trendy.

Left alone I pondered fate. If I died, I'd be dead weight.

I felt stuck forever like dried cement. Sinking too low even to lament.

I watched my waist size raise and fall with the tides. If the full moon swells with admiration, why was round me full of desperation?