I am that thing that complains about the view,
But never turns her head.
Afraid-but not enough to run away.
I stand still with my eyes closed.
Like a child who thinks that wearing sunglasses makes her invisible to the world around her.
I am the kind that doesn't matter.
The one who raises her hand to say hello in return, just to realize the smile, affection, or friendly gesture was for the person beyond me.
I am the shadow that comes out to see the light,
Shies away from the spotlight,
Yet critiques those brave enough to stand directly in it.
I am an unappreciated statue in the park,
Bespeckled with the black and white scrutiny of the grey pidgeons.
It falls on me like blame,
Because after all,
All I do is stand there.