Poem for the Letter I

Wide, proud at the peak, stable at the station
pressed to the very edges of equal peer existence.
But only sometimes.

I daydream if it prefers one representation
over another, perhaps ashamed of our laziness,
perhaps experiencing body dysmorphia?

Is there shame in being easily confused with a number,
often mistaken for a lowercase L, misrepresented with itself,
unpunctuated?

Does it experience claustrophobia, losing space for itself,
anxious as nothing but a fragment of others?
It’s a damn shame we cannot even ask.