Invisible

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