Out of Frame

Three in the morning,

I'm searching for a reason,

for some season

when being invisible

might make sense.

How to be noticed.

How to matter.

How to stop being scattered

across other people's moments,

present but unseen.

The search results are all the same—

confidence, eye contact, shame—

as if you could fix

being unseen

with technique,

as if I hadn't already tried

being louder,

brighter,

more here.

By four I've read enough.

By five I'm scrubbing rough

through the search history,

deleting every query,

but the question stays:

why was I in that photo

and not in the moment.

In my blurred face

you can trace

the effort of someone

trying so hard

to be there,

to matter,

to be visible.

And failing anyway.

That's what three AM is for—

asking what you'll deny

come morning.

The questions you'll erase

before anyone sees

how desperate

you've become.