Smoke signals

Smoke signals.

That burning eye,

the pain of one thing mingled with the other.

Burning in the arms from

all the waving, flailing.

Do you see me?

I’ve been, years, sending out

the call, the signs.

Years blinding myself with smoke

and mirrors.

And all the while, making it harder to tell

that I am who I needed all along.

Do I see myself?