perhaps I take on the colors of my background
and that’s why you don’t see me.
but does my shape not define me?
can you see a clear outline?

maybe my edges blur
into the whirlwind of an evolving world
but are my features not sharp?
can you see the feeling
infused in these lined eyes?

maybe my eyes are closed
or yours are
but does my voice not identify me?
if I announce myself
will you listen to my words?
will you hear me
scream?

in the midst of a crowd,
my outline blends with the rest,
my features disappear,
my voice is drowned out
by so many others,
my colors are the same as everyone else’s,
a chameleon.

I’m not jumping around for your attention.
I’m not the girl
in an inch-long skirt
begging for your approval.
I stand alone,
content in myself.

but as your eyes scan over the scene,
if you would only pause long enough to see me,
to hear me,
to know me,
perhaps you would see
emerging from the fog
not another carbon copy
but a flower,
opening towards recognition
in its uniqueness,
each petal’s shade slightly different,
the rose whose beauty everyone would see
if they would only stop long enough
to smell it.