Fame and its Pitfalls

I wrote a poem not too long ago entitled "Fame," and posted it on the blog. I also recently wrote a poem about the penalties of being wealthy and famous entitled "The Root of all Evil." I wrote these two poems because I've been having an identity crisis for at least three months now. On one hand, I want to remain as anonymous as possible in my pursuits as a writer and occasional photographer. On the other hand, I am an ambitious individual and strive to be not only successful, but respected in my endeavors as an artist. Unfortunately, once you reach a certain level of success (i.e. celebrity status), money and fame can torment even the strongest individuals. Although I am far from rich and have accomplished nothing professionally as a writer, it has occured to me that I have inherited several titles that are quite overbearing, albeit flattering. The last time I visited D.C., I had several strangers refer to me as "Jesus," "Neo (like in The Matrix)," "The One (The Matrix)," and "Abe Lincoln." OK, hopefully this is sheer coincidence but something tells me it's not. My stay in D.C. wasn't nearly as pleasant as I wanted it to be with all this nonsense going on. How did these people even know what I look like? And what specifically have I done to earn such nicknames, even if they are partly in jest? Even if this blog has helped a lot of people see the world differently or inspired them in some capacity, no one is worthy of the aforementioned nicknames (again, even if they are in jest). I appreciate recognition when it's deserved, but not necessarily from strangers labeling me as something I'm not capable of being. It's absurd. Blasphemous. I don't perform miracles. I don't have a following of disciples. I don't have the power to help humanity free itself from "the machines." I didn't free any slaves (though Lincoln didn't single-handedly free the slaves). I'm just me. So treat me like any other stranger. I'm sure most affirmed and established celebrities would echo this request.