Who Am I? A Poem of Secrets

doesn’t bark
at people.
It doesn’t
grade you
with an F,
or an A.
It just is.
Thank you.

Cars, and Jackie Chan movies,
and trees.
Whole forests
of trees.
No people.
No people.

People ‘care’ too much:
They are intrusive
just by being
greedy, selfish,
presumptuous as hell.

So, I’m Superman...

...in a world that has
no concept
of Kryptonite...

that that world
overflows with it,...

...and despite how I tell that world
what Kryptonite is.

So, I’m forced
to live
like a slow poem,
that picks up speed
all the way down
to Complete Ruin,

...Because some SOB
wants to read it;
some Viper
wants to equate words
with ideas,
and to hold me to the words
without understanding
all that a human can
and cannot

Making me out to be every vice
when I fail to keep
the Vacuously Dark Lines.

Math is invisible;
far more visible
than me:
I’m just a person.

People shout me out
just by being there;
a million thoughts
too dense
for me
to escape...

...Like Gravity in a black hole,
but so full
of (their own) light
that I cannot see
anything else.

So, I’m blinded, Because,
I cannot see me.