MARGINAL MAN


i exist in the periphery of your life;
i lurk in the dark corners of your heart,
outside of your love, and on the edge of reality.

my name appears in the margins of your diary,
in the footnotes of your autobiography,
and in the footsteps of your shadow.

i'm the stranger that you once thought you knew,
the outsider who was foolish enough
to believe that he belonged on the inside.

i'm the marginal man,
the one who doesn't matter:
my presence, almost intangible,
my influence, negligible;
yet somehow, i feel like i almost exist.
and perhaps i do exist, but to what extent?

sometimes i come and go, and sometimes i stay,
hidden in silence, or behind a profusion
of words and more words.
it doesn't make too much difference,
either way; spoken or unspoken,
the thoughts are still there, still the same:
thoughts of alienation, thoughts of protest,
and finally, thoughts of resignation.

i'm the marginal man,
the one who doesn't matter;
i exist in the periphery of other people's lives;
i lurk in the dark corners of necessity,
in the dust of old memories,
in the vacuum of spare time,
and on the edge of reality.

yeah, on the edge, on the edge...of something.


--Metta Jon Maslow, 4/11/2000