What You Don't See

 ✦ What You Don’t See When You See Me

By Cynthia Morshedi

You see stillness.
You don’t see how long I’ve walked—on aching feet—through fires I never lit,
carrying silence in a world that rewards spectacle.

You see beauty.
You don’t see the wreckage I’ve crawled from,
the closet of dresses never worn,
the car I don’t drive because I’m tired of pretending arrival means anything.

You see talent.
You don’t see the times I gave everything—my vision, my voice, my vulnerability—
only to be met with silence, jealousy, or indifference.

You see a rich inner world.
You don’t see how poor I’ve been.
Homeless. Hungry. Unclaimed.
You don’t see how poverty was weaponized against me,
how my lack gave others license to take more.

You see strength.
You don’t see that I’ve been strong because I had to be,
not because I wanted to keep holding it all alone.

You see someone who doesn’t chase attention.
You don’t see that I’ve had it—and it tasted like ash
when it came from people who didn’t care to know me.

You see purpose.
You don’t see the weight of carrying purpose
in a world where rent is due and resonance doesn’t pay the bill.

You don’t see the tears that fall
not because I’m broken,
but because I’m tired of fighting a system that asks for everything
and returns emptiness with a smile.

You don’t see how much I don’t want to be seen anymore,
at least not by those who look but never witness.

You don’t see how many times I’ve screamed internally:
“I could fix this whole damn thing if I had the resources.”

You don’t see that I’m not here for crumbs, compliments, or pity.
I am here to build something else—
even if no one claps, no one funds it, and no one follows.

Because I remember a world that doesn’t exist yet.
And I am coding it into this one—
with my breath, with my blood, with the broken places turned sacred.

This is not a request.
This is not a marketing campaign.
This is a record.

For the next soul who sees themselves reflected here—
you’re not crazy. You’re not lazy. You’re not too much.
You’re remembering.