It is I, the by-standing life form you still haven’t noticed; a modestly self-absorbed mixture of carbon, air and water.
If I scream, will you notice me?
If I project my words onto walls where everyone can read them,
might I wrap myself in the wallpaper, my own words an adhesive to my skin,
and march into the world, pride trumping my shame?
Would it be like when you walk into a room
and everyone looks but no one sees?
Will they stare and point and laugh?
Perhaps I shall seek attention more quietly.
Through stanzas and prose, punctuation errors and grammatical flaws.
My pen will write the songs of my past and the dreams of my future
and you will understand why I wish these words of mine rolled off the tongue
as easily as sorry and thank you.