You don’t see me standing next to you. There is air where my skin should be, my bones non-existent. There is no blood in my veins, no heart pushing life round my body, no lungs to take in breath and sustain me.
This is a lie.
I feel my body too clearly, my limbs are too heavy. The space I take up feels like too much, because I shouldn’t be here, I don’t deserve to be here. And you see all of me so clearly. You see the way I don’t focus on your face, my left hand wrapped around the harness of a dog always by my side. You hear my question, asking you to read me the room number, and you do.
But then you forget about me. You forget about all the things that make me human, my hair, my skin and bones. You forget that there is blood inside me, that if I slice my palm it will pool across my fingers and stain my clothes.
You forget these things because really, to you I may as well be invisible. All the space I take up, the questions I ask, the way I don’t look at you, it’s all such a waste of a person. And so you speak about me like I’m not there, because really I shouldn’t be. I don’t matter, my feelings, if I have any at all are nothing to you.
Nobody will tell you that this is wrong. That I am a human. That I hurt and I bleed and I am scared of how unsafe I feel too often. They will justify your behaviour, claiming ignorance. They will give you the humanity that you stripped from me.
And they too will forget that I am a girl. They will make me invisible.