You Cannot See Me.

The problem is that

you cannot see

me.

You read my

words.

Hard words.

Happy words.

Real words.

And you form a picture.

A picture

that is gray

or rainbow

or neither.

One with soggy corners

that is

scratched at the center.

Or one

that is so wild in its

joy.

But you are behind a screen.

And so am I.

Screens that hide

but also show.

You see shadows cast

but never the object itself.

The object itself

is

a human sight

a happy sight

not perfect

but happy

full of color and song

trimmed with perspective

there are holding hands

there is dancing

in the bathroom

on the sidewalk

there is

walking to school

there is

coming home

there are smiles

everywhere

there are tears

somewhere

sometimes

even while falling asleep

But you can't see this.

{Can I?}

*

Do you ever wonder about, or worry about, the difference between reality and perception? Do you ever think that people are getting an imperfect view of who you are?