My Name Is Everyone. Poem by RIC BASTASA

this is the
inability to be just yourself.
you always have a door
and a stair.
most of the time the door
is closed.
the stairs are dusty.
most of the time you
hide behind the curtains.
thick drapes.
most of the time you limit
contact with friends.
they need not know you
completely.
if you were a drink
you limit it to a certain sip.
no reason for drunkenness.
if you were going to be some
kind of a weather
you like just being foggy and
cold.
the sunshine hurts and too much
light gives you the glare
of death.
there is a book written about you
and you are never the author.
you laugh when you read it.
there will be corrections but you
like those errors to be kept that way.
all you want is just to be happy,
to survive and to live for a while.
if you die, you like the death of
everyone else.
nothing to tell, nothing to break
the spell.
you pass this once, and it is just
like every passage of time.
you are never special.
you are never a topic to talk about
for a long time.
you are just like all the leaves
of the trees
the wind blows them all
and not one is spectacular.
ah, you it very well, there was so much
in you that was never in them.
really wasted, but you say, never mind,
i should be one that must not be talked
about. I may be spectacular, but i am
different, and soon, everyone will
dislike it.
it is better this way.
i am not noticed, you say, and i pass
away, and they keep on thinking
i am just like everybody else,
so normal, so natural,
and can just be dismissed as someone
that can easily be forgotten.
and so, you will say, i was born
normal and happy,
and i died normal and happy just
the same.
my name is everyone.