Who Couldn’t See Me

Why couldn’t you see me?

I was right there, reaching, shouting, begging

Help me. See me. Be with me.

But you couldn’t.

You were looking through me, not at me,

too wrapped in your own reflection to notice I was fading.

You saw what I could give,

the way I made your dreams easier,

the way I poured light into your cracks.

But you never saw me as the dream.

I was the supply.

The steady heartbeat keeping everything alive

while I slowly disappeared.

You said you loved me,

but love that can’t see isn’t love, it’s need.

And I’m done mistaking need for connection.

You couldn’t see me

because you were standing in the way,

in the way of us, in the way of truth,

in the way of your own becoming.

I wanted so badly to be chosen,

but now I understand:

I wasn’t invisible.

You were blind.

And I don’t need to scream anymore.

Because I see me now.

Clearly.