I have a number I was given the first day I was me
I can tell to anyone who needs to know
I can count to 1023 on my fingers in binary
And even further if I used my every last toe
I have a bank card with sixteen digits I’ve known
Since the day I opened the account some time long gone
The last two numbers have slowly grown
But I use the exact same PIN that I set on day one

And I don’t much think about it because such is the state of things.

Where once I was human I am becoming statistics
I can be reduced to labels and qualified data
I fit into several marketable demographics
And conform to graphs of variously shaped quantified strata
I exist in more paper and digits than I do skin and blood
I am piles of files and footnotes and folders of results
I am targeted by advertising algorithms and misunderstood
All of which I no longer have the heart to see as insults

Because such is the state of things and I don’t like to think about it.