to the man

to the man who sees ghosts
during daylight:
the world is out to get you.
stand up, you get restless
sit down, you get robbed
of your pride.
you're still a man, don't
let anyone tell you otherwise.
you can hear people's secrets, see
their thoughts form into words
so real that you can
touch them,
taste their color.
you read so many people, but
to them, you are invisible,
so you shout.
you scream their hate back at
them, laugh
when they finally see you,
watching you anxiously,
surprised that they too
can be judged
by someone as lowly
as a man who makes a home
out of a park bench.