a poem

I am a ghost. I am a shadow. I am a whisper in a crowded conference room.

I am spoken of often. But spoken with rarely.

I have an age and a gender. But I have no name.

Who am I?

I am the target.

I am a successful businesswoman who is spoken to like a 50’s housewife.

I am a sensitive man who is expected to act like a perverted alcoholic.

I was born in 1987, and yet I am supposed to understand references to 70’s sitcoms.

I have never used a computer, but I am supposed to know what rotflol means.

I am a 13 year-old girl who loves the Rolling Stones.

I am a middle-aged mom who can recognize Usher and Ryan Sheckler.

I am a teenager who shuns iPods and satellite radio and instead reaches for FM.

I am a wealthy businessman who gets excited about saving a dollar fifty.

I am a grandfather who is treated like a small child.

I’m an 8 year-old girl who is told I must worry about how hot I look.

I never leave the city, but apparently I’m into camping, hiking and mountain biking.

I am a beautiful, intelligent woman who is either too fat or too thin.

I am a unique individual who is told to join the crowd.

I am a conformist who is told I must be different.

I am screamed at from every medium, in every country on Earth.

I am the reason all advertising exists.

Everybody talks to me.

But no one listens.