DFA Writes

                i am invisible. i know this because people only see me as part of a group,in which there are others like me. Society places us on a shelf, snuggly fitting us into place. They read us once, maybe even twice, and believe that they know us cover to cover. Before important people come to visit they take us out, blowing off the dust and cleaning us up. We are then put back on the shelves only to be used as a subtle hint of implied intelegentsia,   implied understanding,   implied empathy.

                  But this is not who i am. Society will not put me in “my place”. Iwill not be catagorized and catalogued, to be shoved on a shelf, sharing tight quarters with those who’s desitiny parallels my own. I say this with certainly for i am doing what has never been attempted. I am writing my own story…

mashing the white

button with my thumb, i wait.

the sound of my chronic foot-tapping

echos off the plaster,

gets sucked up by the cracks running

down the wall,

swallowed up by the man in the corner

snoring, slumped over a brown bag.

Ding – the door slides back.

hesitanting, i step onto the silver landing,

praying i will not be met by

the  a tiny hammer cocking -

or the swish of cold, sharp steel.

The door closes behind me.

I am alone in a skybound capsule.

Shoving my hands in my pockets,

setting my feet with determination,

i count the levels of ascent.

1…2…3…4…5…6…7

the door bangs open with a resounding

tump.

and I step out onto the white-black tiled floor…

the capsule closes and returns to reality

leaving me

        up here

                    alone.