Odette Oprean Poet Free verse

The Forgettable

The Forgettable
I am always the last to know,
the name left hovering
just outside the room.
A party blooms without me—
laughter spilling through walls
I live right beside.
Cake already cut,
candles long gone cold,
my place never set.
“I forgot,” they say,
like it’s nothing more
than a misplaced key.
My daughter calls
mid-celebration—
background noise of joy—
to invite me
after the moment
has already passed.
My mother stands
in a house full of voices,
tells me she meant to remember—
the message written,
never sent,
like me.
My son,
who once would call me
every Sunday,
now drifts—
“I forgot,” he says,
as if love can just… slip.
A classroom fills with grandparents—
mine is an empty chair.
A child explains it simply:
“I forgot.”
And I stand here wondering—
how does a person
become so easy to miss?
I am not loud enough to echo,
not quiet enough to disappear—
just somewhere in between,
where people don’t look twice.
Even as a child
I was carried past my own bus stop,
watching my street
fade behind me.
Even then
I was forgettable.
Friends would promise
“I’ll be there”—
and I would wait,
holding time in my hands
until it slipped through.
I have always been
the afterthought,
the almost,
the one remembered
too late.
And still—
I am here.
Full of love
no one thinks to reach for.
Kindness
that waits without reason.
A heart that gives
and gives
and gives—
to people
who forget
it’s even there.
So tell me—
what is the shape
of a life
no one remembers?
What is the purpose
of a presence
that leaves no echo?
I am right here.
I have always been right here.
And still—
I am forgotten.

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