Africa or the moon

There are times

when I feel I might burst

with needing to expel my thoughts

to effect something

I’m hesitant to disturb silence,
the dust that forms on our existence     

when we remain the same

stillness is effortless

usually I am afraid of being heard

because it is synonymous with being seen

and options become so finite

when Im being perceived by you

your mind, it is almost unbearable

that I exist inside you

I feel the pressure

to be in action, to acknowledge

that I am alive

I rush to the drain

and force my abdomen

until my organs agonize

empty they scream

you are they whine and always have been

a revelation I can not comprehend
  

oh the ache of my moral plight

how laughable

if I were an insect

I would be called conundrum

and I would fly by your senses

and rejoice at my inability to be seen

as anything other than

what I am

and least of all I would miss

my burgeoning empathy