I'll settle for the outliers in their imperfect homes.

I am an invisible girl. I wear a blanket over my head & I am a ghost & I don't cut holes where my eyes should be because I shouldn't have any eyes. Ghosts shouldn't have any eyes because they don't have to worry about running into stuff or seeing things they shouldn't see because they're ghosts & they're dead & they've already seen the worst so now they can rest their little blank eyes in darkness. I am an invisible girl & I am a pretend ghost. I am always pretending I'm something else. Something other than a scared little child even though I know that's all you see me as. I know you see me as fragile. As someone who could be broken so easily, like I'm only held together with scotch tape. Like the only thing keeping my insides from the outside is the thin layer of transparent skin that I have left. I know this is how you see me because I can feel it in the way you touch me, like you're scared, nervous, terrified you might tear me to shreds at the slightest touch. You are right. I could turn into a puddle, melt, disappear, at the first sign of something bad. Of something strong. Of something real.