Invisible was me, and I was it.
I spoke into rooms
that echoed back silence,
and the silence spoke louder
than my words ever could.
It told me—
you don’t matter.
Your voice doesn’t register.
You are unseen.
And so I carried that wound in a grocery bag
lined with another to carry the weight.
Into friendships,
where I bit my tongue
instead of sharing my truth.
Into romance,
where I cut the rope so I wouldn’t fall
so I wouldn’t have to feel
the sting of being left behind.
Into my achievements,
where I stacked degrees and victories
like bricks,
building monuments
to prove I was worthy.
But no matter how high I climbed,
the wound whispered:
you are unseen.
But here I am.
Pen to paper.
Voice to mic.
Breath to sky.
Saying it out loud:
I am not that unseen child anymore.
I am a woman,
learning to use her voice.
Learning to stand in love.
Learning to be seen
first by God,
and then by me.
And so today I speak this truth:
I am seen.
I am loved.
I am worthy.
