Unseen, Not Unheard: A Poem for the Misunderstood

 In the guise of shadows, my story unfolds,

A secret writ deep in the creases of my skin.

Invisible ink stains my days,

With a narrative only I can comprehend,

An opus of resilience, sung low.

My skin, a tapestry too complex for eyes to see,

Wears a cloak not chosen but bestowed by fate.

The world sees not the battles fought within,

Where every morning rises like a steep cliff,

And my spirit, weary, scales it anew.

People pass, their glances sliding off my hidden contours,

Blind to the marathon in my veins,

The effort cloaked in the mundane,

A performance so practiced, so refined,

That even those closest read but the cover, not the tale.

Misunderstood whispers tangle in the air,

Murmuring doubts, casting shadows on my worth.

Look how well, they say, not seeing

The storm-tossed seas I navigate each moment,

The tempest invisible, silent, yet relentless.

Yet within this cocoon of invisibility,

Lies a power, a fierce undying flame.

For every moment I'm underestimated,

I forge my will, my essence, stronger, brighter,

A silent phoenix, rising from unseen ashes.

In the stillness of my solitude,

I've danced with pain and embraced the darkness,

Finding a strange companionship in their depths.

Their weight teaches me the gravity of being,

Pushing me towards an unexpected light.

This journey is mine - a road less visible,

Marked by signs unseen but deeply felt.

It's a path of whispered courage, of quiet strength,

Where victories, though silent, echo profoundly

In the cathedral of my soul.

So here I stand, invisible no more,

A testament to the unseen battles,

The unspoken trials, the resilience of spirit.

Let this poem be a beacon for those unseen,

A voice for the silent stories, waiting to be told.

- Aspen Greenwood