Un-Wanded Poem by Essie Ops

I watch the way their hands clasp together,
how laughter spills like a ball of yarn—
weaving them closer,
weaving me away,
just a ruddy stitch,
a fray,
a knot pulled too tight.

They whisper names not mine,
dancing step by step in a quiet waltz,
and I—oh I—
am just that pause between the notes,
the one where music forgets its melody.

But wasn't it me?
The one who turned staircases into playfields,
who spoke in riddles untold,
the one who danced too wild,
loved too loud.

But now they skip me—
as though I were a creaky step,
too easy to forget,
too bothersome to remember.

They pass through me like ghosts,
their eyes blinded with each other,
glancing at me like a firework—
only for me to burn in the afterglow.

Running down the reception aisle,
their fingers tied in red threads,
hands outstretched for empty change,
not knowing the weight of the stars
that lined my pockets
with the too-muchness of me.

And maybe I understand now—
that maybe I'm only to be glimpsed in the periphery,
maybe I'm just the magical unseen
in a world that prefers the ordinary.

And I retract my hand.
I'm letting them go.
And I'll smile—
because ghosts
should not beg to be seen.