The wonders of childhood imagination
led me to desiring superpowers.
And what a thrill it would have been?
To have been able to read the minds
of friends or foes; or have the ability
to fly away when life on the ground
was too much to handle. Soon did I
realize that I'd already been born
with the power of invisibility.
I'd been able to blend into the background
noise of life and go completely unnoticed;
I'd been able to walk in and out of a room without
anyone batting an eye, without anyone
missing my presence.
Like many superheroes before me,
I realized that this gift was truly a burden.
Imagine: having tears that go ignored so long
that eventually, you learn not to cry-
to not acknowledge that you're hurt.
Imagine: being stabbed and not having anyone notice
you bleeding out onto the sidewalk;
dying all the while, those around you
walk on by with your blood clinging to
the bottom of their shoes as if you aren't
in need of resuscitation, or hope,
or at least a hand to hold onto
to ease the pain.
How insensitive of me to roll my eyes and scoff
whenever a superhero would cry
about their abilities being a curse?
I've been given no choice but to concur:
superpowers are overrated.
YOU ARE READING
Where the Flowers Bloom Unwatered
PoetryA collection of poems written throughout several stages in life, journeying through the human condition through the lens of black girlhood and black womanhood.
