Invisible: A Sonnet
They say that children should be still, not heard
But since the age of two, my fight has been
To make my presence felt, to speak some word,
To make some gesture, that I might be seen.
Five decades later, still I sorely grieve.
The earliest image I am able
Forth from memory's storehouse to retrieve:
My family sitting at a table.
They turn their heads from me, avert their eyes,
Albeit to make them look so hard I try;
Heed not my sad face nor my mournful sighs.
My heart and mind know not the reason why.
Since that moment, half a century past,
I seek attention, till I breathe my last.