How many people have I known;
taking them into me,
speaking that universal, ancient language
of intimate bodies.
All the beds I've slept in,
all the hands that have felt me move
as I dance the age old dance.

Sometimes I wish I was invisible.
Not to go around and be sneaky.
Doing **** that upsets people or hurts them.
I just wish I was invisible because
I'm just so ******* tired of being seen.
Having to hide my insecurities.
Having to lock up my emotions.
Having to keep myself safe.
Just being out there.

I rock.
Not the kind where i'm awesome...
The kind where I find I hug myself.
Where I move back and forwards.
All the ******* time.
When I eat.
When I write.
When I read.
When I do anything.
Just gently rocking.
Always have and probably always will.
But it comforts me.
I comfort me
That's so ******* weird.
But it's honest.

I wish I was invisible.
So that the world could leave me alone.
Because it gnaws on my bones.
Like it has the right to do that to me.
I just want to be invisible so I can live quietly.
Doing my own thing.
And no one will know I am there.
And hopefully no one will see me.
And, if I close my eyes.
And rock quietly, and slowly.
I think that's the closest I will ever get.
To being invisible.

It is Wednesday evening
and the world feels like
a sudden inward breath.
A storm is in the air
but only I can feel it.

Silver flashes, turns to red
rivulets down my leg,
endorphins in my head
and the storm abates.

I exhale.