am I invisible?
I suppose asking
that question is like
pissing in the wind,
when the answer
is likely to be twisted,
pointed back in my direction,
the wall of defense too thick,
when I’m left feeling peripheral,
in focus only when my voice is loud,
the squeaky wheel getting the grease,
a game of manipulation,
one I’m no longer
willing to play,
when my thinking of you
and hoping you’ll do the same
becomes inconsequential,
exteraneous,
irrelevant,
ash, blowing in the wind
-image via Pixabay, shared in response to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad’s prompt, invisible
Heart Breathings 