I walk outside of my door
Onto the street
And my ears become alive with sound
There’s cars racing by
Birds chirping
An occasional child screaming for a lost toy
And there’s me
There’s all these sounds but none of them form the vowels and syllables that spell out my name
My name
Written on a piece of paper that ascertains that I do in fact exist
That I am a person
That I am worthy
Sometimes I hear other sounds
A high low whistle
The occasional unsolicited adjective describing my appearance
Names that aren’t mine but are directed to me nonetheless
I don’t expect these people to know who I am
To see me as anything more than another face
Walking along
Trying to survive
But when did I give permission to be defined by appearance?
Gender?
Race?
How can I make seen what the eyes can’t see?
I think
Think
Think
And I keep walking