A Marginal Man

Nothing.

I am the center of nothing.
I am a marginal man.
A marginal man.

Nothing at all revolves around me.
My displeasure matters to no one but myself.
My angst means nothing to anyone but me.
And decisions are usually made without any deference to what I think.
I am a man without any meaning in his life.
I am a man without any value attached to his being.

And though I worked hard, and work harder still, to make a living, to get a notice,
I get none.
None.

I am not one of the Chosen Few, it seems,
Not one of the Elite.
Not one of the Lucky Ones, at all.
Nor even one of the Damned.
I am the center of nothing.
Nothing.
I am a marginal man.
A marginal man.

I live without any meaning stemming out of my subsistence.
I survive without anything hinging upon my survival.
I exist for the mere sake of existing.
I exist for the lack of other things to do.

And for the lack of courage to do the only honorable thing a man like me should do...
to change... to reject.

I am the center of nothing.
Nothing.
I am a marginal man.
A marginal man.

February 1997