Invisible

Weekly Diary Entry #2

An observer, sometimes an observed—both uncomfortable states of being.

I want to be seen, but only by a few.

I want to be felt, but only by those who look for me.

I always knew that being the observed was nauseating.

But I also know that being invisible is equally as crushing.

This story is part of a collection of poems, short stories and introspective reflections of my creation, called “Grimoire of a Weirdo”.