Where I Wait

If I were normal
leaving the house
wouldn’t feel like asking
for mercy.

I wouldn’t map my body
against buildings.
I wouldn’t bargain with time,
or wonder if my needs
will ruin the evening.

People would keep inviting me.
Not as a kindness,
just because I would fit
without thinking.

Instead, I stay.
I watch other people’s joy
arrive and depart
without me.
I tell myself
I chose this.

Sometimes that’s true.
Sometimes it’s the lie
that hurts less.

The pain doesn’t shout.
It settles.
It lives in the space
where invitations used to be.
It stays
even when I remember
that my mind is beautiful,
that I am thoughtful,
that I have already done
so much learning alone.

People don’t give me time.
They don’t learn my needs.
Not because they hate me—
because they don’t have to.

I want somewhere
I can arrive
without rehearsing my existence.
Somewhere my presence
is not a problem to solve.

The world keeps its shape.
I learn how to disappear
without leaving.

So I build a life from words.
From books that wait patiently.
From poems that do not ask
why I am here
or when I will go home.

At night,
I imagine what it would be like
to be missed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough
that someone might notice
the empty chair
and leave it there
for me.


Coda – Where I Begin Again

I find the bar
and let it take my weight.

The slide stops here.

I turn my boots uphill,
press tracks into the snow,
one careful step
at a time.

Cold burns,
but it keeps me awake.

I don’t need the summit yet.
I just need traction.

So I walk.
—Frost ❄️