I yearn to feel seen

but the jar, hinders that ability

Photo by Chelsey Marques on Unsplash

My surroundings are made of glass,

The walls far too small,

The air is turning sour,

As I am passed without

Second thoughts

They’ve put me

Here,

In a jar where I cannot

Move,

They’ve screwed the lid on

Too tight,

They’ve chose a jar,

Too small

I believe i am on display,

To pour my heart out onto

The dome,

To smear my

Dry-erase letters with

My tears

But nobody watches,

My silent suffer,

Nobody notices that I am

An art piece,