Bottomfeeder, to the rescue.

I am a starving artist, a bottomfeeder on the totem pole.

I do not look as if I belong to an earlier era, nor do I look wise, ahead of my years.

Not that looks matter. For I am a bottomfeeder.

I cannot afford creativity. I cannot afford individuality, a name for myself.

They are luxuries. The things in life we want, we crave.

But don't need.

I am society's property, nameless.

Anonymous.

I write in the subways, in secluded smoky bars. I write in Times Square and at Yellowstone. I sit on Lincoln's knee and write to the walls.

I am never seen. Never heard. Never read.

I was not genetically engineered to be visible. My DNA steers me to roam the streets, shouting incessantly through quiet poetry.

Yearning for someone to hear me.

They are unaware of my existence.

But as long as I know I exist,
I'll be okay.