I am the sole of your shoe,
the dirt that you spit upon,
and the excrement of fish
that sinks into the silt
quickly becoming invisible.
I am the one who sits in the
last seat, in the last row,
who never says a word, or joins
a group, or makes any sound,
trying to be invisible.
I am the one that you never see,
even when you brush against
my back or shoulder in a crowd,
the one that you never grace with
a smile, for I am invisible.
I yearn to have a friend of my own,
someone who shares secrets with me,
holds my hand, carries my books,
asks for my phone number, so that
I will no longer be invisible.
I am tired of sitting alone, day after day,
munching on my cardboard lunch
while others around me joke and speak
of adventures of which I will never know,
for I remain invisible.
I ask for your attention, your time,
which you so willingly give to your
chosen few, the “in crowd,” those that
raise your status, your time card, but
not me, for I am invisible.
I beg you to stop just once and ask
my name, to hold the door and let me
enter first, to invite me to join your group
for lunch, or to be my partner, to wipe away
my cloak of invisibility
so that I may be seen for who I am,
a child of God
a blessed soul
a friend in waiting