a row of cars parked on the side of a road, Baltimore

Look at Me

Bill McIlmail

Sometimes I just want to stand in the street and scream, “Look at me. I exist!” I have solid mass, flesh and bone, a face and a smile. Look at me. Can’t you even see past yourself and your mirror? Look at me. Just once, stop and acknowledge my existence. I am somebody.

Maybe I’m not so stylish, maybe pretty plain, but I am somebody. I exist. This is a person, this is me. Why can’t you see me? Are your blinders so close that you can only see yourself and what you’re about? Moving so fast, if I stepped in front of you, you probably would walk right through me. Do I need a stop sign, bright and red, on me? Maybe “Caution. Might be a person up ahead.” Or do I have a yield sign on me or “Do not enter”?

Look at me…or at least look where you hear the voice coming from.