During this point in my life, I was desperate to be seen. Not for attention, for witnessing in my love. There’s a slow, self-erasing pain which takes hold when your environment, community, and circumstances (sometimes self-inflicted) make you feel invisible, or when examined, broken and disgusting.
Thank you for reading and for the caring critique. 🫶🏻
There’s a real tenderness in the idea that seeing someone can be an act of reverence.
Your beautiful poem is strongest when it stays in that quiet place of awe and restraint.
Sometimes the sacred is felt most clearly in the lines you leave unsaid.
The longing here feels less like desire and more like a search for recognition.
Yes, you’re right. 🙏🏻
During this point in my life, I was desperate to be seen. Not for attention, for witnessing in my love. There’s a slow, self-erasing pain which takes hold when your environment, community, and circumstances (sometimes self-inflicted) make you feel invisible, or when examined, broken and disgusting.
Thank you for reading and for the caring critique. 🫶🏻