Translucency

A poem of isolation.

Translucency has never been so lonely.

A clear apparition summoned only when needed.
The demands are as follows: do this, do that, thank you, be gone.
I stand against a wall, not even a wallflower.

You don’t see me.
I am invisible until you decide I am opaque.

My form slowly melds into some grotesque carnival attraction.
Transported back in time to the “freakshows” you seem to relish in.

A sideshow, “Hello! I am here for your entertainment.”
I take a bow.

Now you see me.

Dancing marionette, lifting heavy pounds of steel.
The curtain closes.

I am once again resigned to solitude.
Not for lack of trying — to break your illusion.

I protest your summoning and yet the blame is on me.
The mirror sees nothing anymore.

You see freak scrawled across my forehead in pigments of red.

Apparently, this is my fate.

Take your hand and put it through me. 
Just walk into my hollowness merging with me momentarily.

Weakness is what you call this.
Letting people walk on you — so I don’t.

Your feet won’t tread on my ground. 
But wait, that’s the wrong choice?
I won’t let you walk on me, but the trade is tormented isolation.

No matter what I lose.

They say: Dance for me, sing for me, show me your worth. 
But they never think for a second “I respect you”.

Translucency is so very lonely.