Invisible Matter
By
Jackie Czamanske
I wonder,
What does it take to see me?
I mean, REALLY SEE ME?
Is perception limited by demographic?
Sex? Age?
My package is no longer shiny and new.
My patina…well,
I guess that’s only valued in objects.
I stuff my soul with cookie and cake,
And snicker as I become bigger and b-i-g-g-e-r,
yet seen less and less.
Doors were once held open by pretty boys,
Now they close thoughtlessly in my face.
When were my pheromones turned off?
T-ranged women bruise me with their elbows,
on their climb to acknowledgement.
I’m left.
Weathered and worn.
Like leaves fallen from their host,
left on the ground to rot,
Only noticed by the crunch beneath passing feet.
Am I now a grey ghost,
hovering between two worlds?
Youth and death?
How can I force your eyes to focus?
What can I do to shake off this magic cloak?
I live in a world that fails daily to see my worth.
My eyes scream: STOP! LOOK!
I matter.
