I am not to any one as I am to an other.
It is fair to say that I am not any "one" to most.
With their consistently skewed perspective,
what have I won that there is to boast?

I am not to anyone as I am to myself.
What does it matter what I am to me?
The only presence of my sort sensible
is as I am allowed to be.

As alone as any other, I hide from progress.
Anonymity is best served to the indecisive.
Should I be remembered by a name?
Is my life merely organized in crises?

My story is only told in this time
because there are listeners.
Should I go unobserved...
should I go unobserved?

I miss seconds, and then days.
Time moves on without me,
and I am not of interest,
I am no idol.

Stares and glares alike bind me,
condemnation outside the realm
of what is verbal harms me so.
How pitiful and weak.

I wish to understand the world,
and so I seek to understand myself,
for my world, should it be important
is nowhere else but within,

Yet I remain unobserved,
a victim of my own kind.
This life, and the next,
to remember these codes five.

The jack of all trades is unacknowledged,
but he works for the betterment of man.
The master of none is desperate,
he will take all that he can.