by Brianna G. Harte
Sometimes to be hidden,
Unseen,
Waiting to be recognized,
Has more perks
Than one could ever believe.
For if I conceal myself
Beneath surroundings not given thought,
Maybe, just maybe,
Time to myself or to be understood,
Could be a slither away.
You don’t believe me?
I beseech you
To proclaim your thoughts
Of when others look down on you,
Place judgment of looks and actions
Upon your head
Before they’ve known you
For longer than five seconds.
I may not be an expert,
But I have seen enough.
More people pass by
Gawking at me,
Once they have discovered me.
But they know me not well,
For if I lay quietly in my surroundings,
Only once they fathom my talents
Will they find me,
And all can be well.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G Harte. All rights reserved.
Writing With Harte 