Whether to be seen or not seen.

May 22nd, 2014, 11am

I want to be heard, not seen. The tick of the clock on the wall. The rustle of leaves in wind. The snort of deer in the trees. But no, I want more. I want to be the voice in the loudspeaker. The advocate righting wrongs. The words on the page. I dance along the fence of seen and not-seen. I twirl and bow when nobody’s looking. I speak out, then worry who I’ve offended. The young buck stands in the gravel driveway. I drive slow so my hybrid car shuts off the gas engine, runs on batteries. Stealth mode. I can hear each rock crackle under my tires. The buck dares me to come closer, closer yet. Each crackling second is like a tiny electrical charge. The buck leaps over the split rail fence as easily as neurotransmitters diffuse across synapse gaps to bind with receptor sites. Words. Neurons fire. I tolerate being seen to be heard.

Vosco, David Wade and Paul said thanks.

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Deb Stone

The truest thing that's ever been said about me was by my fourth grade teacher, "She talks too much and wanders about, out of her seat." Though I've wrestled various plots and characters in my life, I never get too far off that spine. You can find me at Twitter/Facebook/Instagram at iwritedeb.

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